Not In This For Your Cause
by The d20 Master
Summary: After a teleporter experiment gone wrong sends the RED team a hundred years into the future, they find a changed world. Unfortunately, a terrible misunderstanding on first contact results in the RED team at war with the peacekeeping (and technically criminal) organization Overwatch. Can the two overcome their differences to save the world from the sinister group known as Talon?
1. Chapter 1

**RED Bread, 1971**

Scout sat leaning back in a chair as he bounced a baseball off a wall repeatedly, catching it every time it bounced back. The entire time as he rocked on the chair, he sat grumbling nonsensically. He was distracted from this activity with the sound of the door creaking and a telltale puff of cigarette smoke filling the air. Sure enough, a familiar French man spoke.

"Still upset about being dumped, I see." The voice said. Scout let the two legs of his chair that hung in the air to fall back down and he threw the baseball blindly.

"Go to hell, Spy." He said angrily. He heard the ball land and roll down the hall outside his room. "Miss Pauling and I are taking a break, alright? She's married to the job so we're just giving it a rest."

"Spare me. I didn't come to listen to your self pity. We have a situation." Spy said. Scout rose to his feet angrily and turned to face the sharply dressed Frenchman. The red suit and the dark red balaclava gave very little of the Spy away and Scout wished he knew what Spy looked like so he could better envision punching his face.

"Screw you. What kind of situation? Is it the BLU's?" He asked. Spy shook his head.

"The engineer and medic were running some experiments with the teleporter again. It's acting strange, they want everybody on standby in case they create another bread monster." Spy explained. Scout rolled his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, that is big news. Hey, wasn't it Soldier who made that thing by teleporting bread for three days straight?" Scout asked. Spy nodded. "I think we'll be fine, our two esteemed scientists know better."

"Scout, this is not a negotiation." Spy said sternly. "Come with me now."

"Alright, alright, get off my damn back, jeez." Scout said. He walked over to his bed and picked up the baseball bat that rested beside it. He looked around, saw his pistol in its holster on the bedside table. He grabbed it and put on the holster. He glanced around the room. "Ah, my shotgun is..."

"You left it in the training gym, Soldier retrieved it for you." Spy said.

"Oh, great, that guy. Hey, is he still obsessing over that bucket?" Scout asked. Spy rolled his eyes.

"Come on." He said. Spy turned on his heel and as he took a long drag on his cigarette, he muttered something angrily in French. Spy left and Scout followed him.

* * *

 **Des Moines International Airport, Iowa, April 9 2076**

Sir Charles Chaplin stood in the airport having just gotten off his plane from Britain. He was currently going through customs and several people were ahead of him in line. He sighed. Checking his watch, he tapped his left thumb against his cane repeatedly to pass the time. After what seemed like an eternity, he was the next in line to go through a metal detector. He walked through and the machine made no noise. However, his briefcase did cause a commotion as it went through a smaller metal detector. The machine beeped loudly and often and a large, burly security guard stepped forward.

"What's going on?" The guard demanded. Charles smiled.

"My briefcase. I can explain, hand it to me please." He said. The guard frowned and picked up the briefcase.

"I think I'll check it myself, limey." The guard said. Charles raised his right hand and shrugged as he leaned on his cane. "What's the cane for?"

"As you wish. And the cane is to help me walk. Old war wound." He said. The guard opened up the case and began searching through it. He pulled out a glass case containing Charles' medals. The guard raised an eyebrow.

"What are these?" He asked. Charles frowned.

"What do they look like? My service medals, from the British Army. Is that all?" He queried. The guard shook his head.

"Gotta be sure, bud. Hold on." The guard explained. He set the medals aside and continued searching. "Hello, what's this then?" He said, pulling out a pistol. The guard glared at Charles. "Explain, fast."

"My old service pistol. I keep it as a memento of my days fighting in the Omnic Crisis. It's quite harmless, I assure you. I carry no ammunition and the firing pin is safe at my home in Kent. Nobody will be shot by that gun any time soon." Charles said. The guard began to remove pieces of the weapon to check this story. After he had almost completely stripped the gun, he nodded in satisfaction and began putting it back together.

"Alright, fine. How'd you get that through customs in Britain, anyway?" The guard asked. Charles shrugged.

"I told them what I told you. I doubt it would've passed muster had I not had friends in that airport, however. Gun laws are stricter over there. So, lad, are you going to be arresting me?" Charles said. The guard shook his head.

"Not unless I find something else in that case of yours." He said. He placed the pistol aside and began searching. After a couple minutes, he nodded with satisfaction and replaced everything he had taken out, closing the briefcase and handing it to Charles.

"Thank you." Charles said, taking it.

"No problem. Stay out of trouble while you're in Des Moines, alright?" The guard said.

"Not to worry, I won't be staying long. I'm bound for Marion." Charles said pleasantly.

"Alright, I'll expand that to 'stay out of trouble while you're in the states.' How's that for you?" The guard told him.

"Absolutely fine. Good day." Charles said, nodding and walking off. Ten minutes later, he was outside the airport and looking around. He saw a taxi driving past and he raised up his hand, yelling for it. The yellow vehicle pulled to a halt beside him, the car humming as it propelled itself above the ground. Charles opened the door and got in, placing his briefcase on the chair next to him, holding his cane between his legs and buckling in.

"Hello." He said to the driver.

"Hey. Where to, buddy?" The driver asked.

"Well, that depends. Are you prepared to drive to another city?" Charles asked.

"Eh, depends on the city and how much you're willing to pay." The driver responded.

"To Marion. As for payment, I'll pay whatever it costs, not to worry." He said.

"OK, I can do Marion. Hope you like folk music, it's a long drive." The driver said, turning up the volume on his radio and setting off.

* * *

 **RED Bread, 1971**

As Scout walked into the main rec room following Spy, he was unable to take the scene in as Soldier stormed over to him and thrust Scout's shotgun into his arms. Scout stumbled a little.

"Gee, thanks." He said.

"Do not leave your weaponry lying around again, soldier." Soldier growled. Scout set his gun down on a table and straightened his cap.

"Uh, sure. You're the soldier, not me." Scout said. Soldier glared at him from under his helmet, standing straight-backed and towering over the slouching frame of Scout.

"Not an excuse for laziness, son. Those BLU team ladies could attack at any moment, we have to maintain constant vigilance!" Soldier proclaimed.

"Very nice, buddy. I'll definitely bear that in mind." Scout said, smirking.

"If you two are quite done," Came the thick accent of the Medic. "We would like to show you all our new project!" Scout and Soldier looked to the side and saw the Engineer and Medic staring disapprovingly at them. Also in the room stood the rest of the team of mercenaries. Spy leaned against the wall, lighting up a cigarette, the Heavy sat eating a sandwich, the Demoman was drinking whisky and the Sniper leaned against a wall, waiting. The Pyro sat, arms folded, watching intently.

"Yeah, we're done." Scout said.

"Wunderbar. Herr Conagher, you have their attention." Medic said. The Engineer nodded and opened his mouth to speak before the Scout interrupted.

"Yeah, hold up. Conagher? What the hell is a Conagher?" Scout asked. The Engineer frowned.

"My last name, Scout." He explained.

"Woah, you guys actually have _names_? Huh, isn't that weird? Wait, what's your first name?" Scout asked.

"Dell. Now, if you're quite done there, Scout? We've been running some experiments on the teleporter again. Not like that bread stuff, ain't no tumours to worry about. Now, recently I've been putting some experimental bits on the teleporter, tryin' to juice it up a little, see how I can improve on the design." He said.

"So, what? Why did this need the entire team? Ya juiced up the teleporter, good job." Scout asked.

"Well, y'see, that's where it gets a little complicated. Now, we've been sending some small items through the teleporter. Only problem is, we don't know where it's going. None of it's showing up on the other teleporter we have set up and when we tried sending it through that one, they didn't turn up here." Dell explained.

"And this means what?" Scout asked. He heard a groan from Heavy.

"Scout, if you interrupt him one more time, I will strangle you." Heavy said, the burly Russian scowling.

"Hey, hold up there, brother, it's an honest question." Scout said. Heavy growled and began to rise and Dell moved forward hastily, chuckling and raising his hands.

"No need to get worked up, boys, he's just asking a question. It means we want to find out what this upgrade does and as the doc told me, the best way to find out is to experience it for yourself. So we're going through the teleporter." Dell said.

"But we don't know where it goes." Scout said. "We could die."

"Naw, it ain't that bad. I may have screwed up the upgrades but not so badly that we'll die. Somebody's gonna go in first and radio us here to say where we are. If they're out of range or just can't contact us, we'll all go in." He explained.

"Now, this plan may sound unnecessarily daring, but it should be well worth it, my friends." Medic interjected, smiling and straightening his glasses.

"Mate, that's bloody insane." Sniper cut in. "You expect us to just hop in the teleporter that could lead anywhere and if we don't get any response, the rest of us follow?"

"Ja. Who's first? Any volunteers?" Medic said, grinning. Sniper shrugged and shook his head. After a moment, the Pyro stood up. Everybody shot him a furtive glance, expecting something bad. Pyro said nothing, it merely picked up its flamethrower and walked over to the teleporter. It nodded to Dell and the engineer hastily walked over to it. He began tinkering with the machine on the ground until it lit up and the familiar red lights above it began glowing. Without waiting for Dell to fetch a radio, Pyro stepped on it. It was spun around rapidly before vanishing.

"Aw, hell." Dell said. "He was supposed to get the damn radio." He paced around for a moment, lost in thought. He stopped, removed his hard-hat and rubbed his bald scalp as he considered things. "Alright, who wants to go next?" Nobody said anything and Scout glanced around.

"Ah, screw it, I'll go. Gimme the radio." Scout said.

"Good man. If you are about to be killed, be sure to radio us first, ja?" Medic said. Scout frowned and ignored him while he grabbed his shotgun. He walked over to Dell and took the radio. As he stepped up to the teleporter, he took a deep breath.

"Wish me luck, guys." He said. Nobody said a word as he stepped onto the machine.

"At least Miss Pauling won't miss you if it goes wrong!" Spy called as Scout began to spin. He scowled and opened his mouth to respond before he was gone.

* * *

 **Marion, Iowa, April 9 2076**

Charles handed the driver a large wad of money as they pulled over by the side of the road in the outskirts of the city of Marion.

"Thanks, man. I think this is like, thirty bucks more than you owe me." The driver said. Charles smiled.

"Keep it, old chap." He said. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Hey, you sure you want to get out here? It's a long way from anywhere important, you could stay in and I could drive you to a hotel, no problem. Wouldn't take ten minutes." The driver said.

"Thanks, but it's alright. I have a friend waiting for me, it's all sorted." He said.

"Alright, you take care, Mr Chaplin." The driver said.

"You too, Mr Smith." Charles said, grabbing his briefcase and cane and exiting the cab. He closed the door, turned and waved as the driver set off. He took a deep breath and began walking down the street. He payed no mind to the houses around him and headed deeper into the city. Eventually, he turned into an alley and at the end, a tall woman with long blonde hair, pale skin and deep green eyes stood, leaning against the wall at the end of the alley. Next to her was a door.

"Evening, love. Everything alright?" Charles asked. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You're Charles Chaplin, right?" She asked. Her accent was American, but definitely not from this part of the US. From what Charles knew of different American accents, it sounded like she was from New York. Maybe the Brooklyn area.

"Any other British men aged around 50 meant to be here?" He asked.

"No. I've seen your Overwatch picture. Your hair used to be black." She said. Charles rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well, it was a few years ago and I've gotten a bit older. People do tend to go grey with age." Charles said.

"Alright, chill. My name is Sarah Peters, head of communications at Watchpoint: Marion. I've heard you're my new boss." She said. Charles nodded.

"According to our primate leader, yes. Where is the Watchpoint, anyway?" He asked. Sarah stood up straight, straightening her trench coat.

"Through this door, follow me." She said. She turned and opened the door she had been standing next to. Charles followed her in. They walked down a dimly lit corridor until they reached the end, where another door stood. She pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open to reveal a staircase going downwards. He followed her down and they found themselves in a large, empty bar. Sarah walked over to a door that had a simple image of a woman above it. Charles frowned.

"The entrance is through a toilet?" He asked.

"Yes, it's through a toilet. All the other entrances are out in the open, we wouldn't want anybody to see us going in." She said. Charles scowled and followed her into the bathroom. It was a long, empty bathroom that looked like it hadn't been used in years. The far wall was composed of four vertical mirrors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Sarah walked over to them and cleared her throat.

"Agent Sarah Peters speaking, access code 42119879." She said. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, the a hissing filled the air as the middle two mirrors receded into the wall. They slid apart to reveal another corridor leading to a lift.

"This is an interesting place to hide a military base." Charles mused.

"I'd tell you to shut up if you weren't my new boss." Sarah responded. "Come on." At this, she walked through the wall and down the corridor, the echo of her boots filling the air. After a moment of hesitation, Charles followed and heard the mirrors closing behind him. As this happened, lights on the ceiling flickered on. Once they were at the lift, Sarah pushed a button and the doors slid open. They entered the lift and as the doors slid shut, it began to descend. After a minute, the lift stopped and the doors opened. Sarah was first out and Charles followed. He stopped to take in the sight of a large hall. Several doors were located along the walls, there were many staircases going up and high above, through a glass window, Charles could see what looked like the command center of the base. He chuckled.

"Thirty-eight personnel, twelve holding cells deeper underground, tens of thousands of dollars worth of weapons and communications equipment. A dozen more personnel are on the way. Welcome to Watchpoint: Marion, boss." Sarah said.

* * *

 **Unknown Location, Unknown Date**

"Fuck you, Spy!" Were the words out of Scout's mouth as he crashed into the ground. He gasped in pain, his gun, bat and the radio flew from his grasp. He rolled onto his back and groaned, covering his face with his hands and lying there for a moment. He took a deep breath and sat up, looking around. The environment around him. He was located on a hill and was surrounded by green. Trees and grass, all going for miles around. In the distance, he saw a river.

He walked over to the radio, picked it up and activated it.

"This is Scout, you guys picking up? No sign of Pyro, either he teleported someplace else or he's burning a town down. I'm in... What is this, Wisconsin? I don't know, never learned much about the geography of the states, could be someplace else. Hello, boys?" Scout said. He received no response. "Damn it, fucking useless..." He muttered tossing the radio aside. He sat down. He had no idea where he was, but with any luck, the rest of the group would turn up soon and they could help him sort things out.

For nearly ten minutes, nothing happened and Scout grew increasingly worried with every passing second. Then, suddenly, he heard the telltale sound of somebody teleporting followed by:

"I FORGOT MY ROCKETS!" Cried Soldier as he crashed into the ground next to Scout. Scout nodded at him as he groaned and he heard more teleportation sounds. Soon, the entire team was all around him, sprawled in the dirt. Spy was the first one to recover. He rose to his feet and looked down at Scout.

"Did you radio us, Scout?" Spy said.

"You bet. You didn't get it?" He asked. As he said this, Dell stood and looked at him, shaking his head.

"We didn't, no. Where's Pyro?" The engineer asked. Scout shrugged.

"He wasn't here when I arrived, so he's probably hiding out in that forest for whatever reason. I don't think it really matters, we should figure out where we are. Speaking of which, you got any idea, engi?" Scout asked. Dell frowned.

"I told you my name, why don't you use it?" He asked. Scout grinned.

"I kinda forgot already." Scout said. Dell scowled.

"Whatever. As for where we are, I ain't got a clue, though if it's still in the states, from the terrain and that river I'd say... Somewhere in the Midwest." He said. Scout clapped his hands together, standing and laughing.

"Aha, I guessed correctly. Wait, Wisconsin's in the Midwest, right?" He asked. Dell nodded.

"That is if we're still in America, we could be somewhere else. Or we might just be somewhere in America that looks a bit like your typical Midwest countryside." He said.

"All this guessing is meaningless until we figure out what part of the world we are in. It could be the Midwest, or it could be anywhere else on the planet. France has lots of areas like this." Spy pointed out.

"Oh, come on, do you see an Eiffel Tower?" Scout said. Spy glared at him.

"Alright, let's just ignore that, boys. Spy's right, we need to at least get a general location before we can narrow it down and get back to RED Bread." Dell said, adjusting his goggles. "Or any RED base, really." As he said this, the rest of the team gathered around to join the conversation.

"How's about we find the Pyro before he burns something down?" Sniper mused.

"Very good idea, Herr Mundy. Scout, you would be able to cover ground the fastest." The medic said.

"See, you just gotta rub it in that you bothered to learn people's names, don't ya? And I ain't lookin' for that freak on my own, fellas. Somebody should search with me, or instead of me. I could find somewhere for us to stay while we figure things out, there's probably buildings somewhere beyond those trees." Scout said. Spy rolled his eyes as he opened his cigarette case, took one out, placed it in his mouth and lit it. He closed the case and put it back in his suit jacket along with his lighter.

"I can look for Pyro, if Scout isn't man enough to try." Spy said around his cigarette. He took it out of his mouth and exhaled a large puff of smoke before putting it back in.

"I will look for him too!" Soldier chimed in. "We cannot fight the BLUs without our entire team!"

"I'll look for buildings with Scout. That forest over there dinnae look too large, shouldn't take long to get through it." Demo said.

"I imagine we should all search for settlement, except for those looking for the Pyro." Medic said. "But not as one, splitting up would make us discover things quicker."

"Yeah, it also means it's harder to find each-other." Scout pointed out. "We should pick some kind of time and place to meet each-other again."

"Good idea, Scout. How about back on top of this hill in three days? If y'all find anything, let the rest of us know, if not, we keep looking." Dell said.

"Yeah, sure thing, hard-hat. Now's as good a time to go as any. See you fellas in three days." Scout said. He pulled down his cap, tightening it on his head before nodding at the rest of them, turning and setting off for the forest.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion - Iowa, 27 August, 2076  
**

Charles sat in the command center of the underground facility, the state government of Iowa completely unaware of the Overwatch activity going on right underneath one of their cities.

"This transmission was detected when, precisely?" Charles asked Sarah.

"Yesterday at 11:00 AM." The young woman said. "Located approximately 120 miles west of here."

"I see. Play the transmission, please." Charles said. She nodded and tapped the holographic screen on the tablet she carried.

 _"This is Scout, you guys picking up? No sign of Pyro, either he teleported someplace else or he's burning a town down. I'm in... What is this, Wisconsin? I don't know, never learned much about the geography of the states, could be someplace else. Hello, boys?"  
_

"Wisconsin, eh? I'm English and I know more about the geography of America than this fellow seems to." Charles said, chuckling. "Tell me, why is this worthy of note, Peters?"

"It was detected less than a minute after a large unidentified energy spike in the area. Another such spike happened five minutes prior and a third occurred ten minutes later. All in the same area and we have no idea what caused it. It's in the middle of nowhere." She said. At this, Charles nodded thoughtfully.

"I suppose this mention of somebody burning a town down is worrying, though I imagine the state government will have also picked up this message." Charles said. Sarah nodded.

"Why I brought it to your attention, sir." Sarah explained.

"Very well. Dispatch a team of soldiers to investigate. But if there's any sign of state officials of any kind, they have orders to withdraw, understood? The people of Marion don't know we're here and nor does the Iowa government, we're under strict orders from Winston to make sure things stay that way for as long as possible." Charles instructed.

"Of course, commander. I'll relay the orders now." She said. She turned and walked out of the command center as she tapped the holographic screen repeatedly. Charles sighed and looked around at the eight other people in the command center.

"Keep up the work, lads. I'm off for a stroll around the facility." He instructed. Nobody responded and he rose from his chair in the middle of the command center with a pained grunt. He leaned on the arm of the chair and grabbed his cane. Once he was ready, he limped off.

* * *

Scout strode through the light undergrowth of the forest with consummate ease, weaving through the trees and moving at a brisk pace. He kept his shotgun ready though he doubted he would need it. He was glad that splitting up had been suggested, now he could be alone with his thoughts and he had been happily alone for the last day as he moved through the woods.

He thought of Miss Pauling, the woman he had become so smitten with in the three years he had worked in the employ of Redmond Mann and the Administrator. In between all the firefights, close calls and injuries, he had always wanted her. Though he had no fear in the face of enemies and quite happily ran headfirst into certain death, he had not quite had the courage to make any serious advances upon the secretary of the Administrator until a misunderstanding where the entire RED team thought they were filled with tumours. Then, with the help of Spy, Scout had finally entered a relationship with Miss Pauling following them killing a bread monster created by the Soldier.

It had not lasted long, however. Pauling had little patience for Scout's immaturity and general dickishness, Scout himself had little patience for her constant working. Finally, after two months of arguments, she had finally told Scout that she wanted their relationship to return to a professional one. That had been a week prior and Scout had been miserable ever since. He almost wished for a fight so that he could clear his head.

As he reflected upon the events of the last few months, he noticed that the trees were thinning and in the distance, he could see a long, rolling grassland with many hills in the distance. He could also make out a long, empty road and by that road, a two-story building. He grinned, forgetting his troubles momentarily and running. It did not take long to be out of the forest and he slowed to a halt by the side of the road. It looked old and ill-maintained. The building did not look much better. It was a run-down, ramshackle and rustic building. A faded white sign with red letters read _Sully's Roadhouse_. The building was painted dark red and shaped like a cube, with four windows on each wall, two per floor. Most of the windows were boarded up and the dark red roof had a ruined stone chimney atop it.

"Just the kind of building we Reds like..." Scout muttered. He walked over to the front door. The white double-door was in relatively good condition though the locks were rusted and it took one shot from his pistol to get the doors open. Once it was open, he walked through the doors and took in the sight. The entire bottom floor was a large bar. Over in the corner was a large pool table. Two cue sticks lay on the table along with several balls, as if a game was currently in progress. Not far from this table, a jukebox stood, covered in dust with two spare cues leaning against it. The large room also had several tables with chairs around it. Some were empty, some had plates and cups on them, a handful of newspapers were also scattered about. Dominating the corner of the room to the right of the doorway was the bar itself, with a long counter creating a small rectangle around the corner. Several empty and half-empty glasses were on this counter and a large refrigerator stood proudly, dozens of bottles still showing through the glass door despite there being nothing cooling them. A stairwell by the fridge undoubtedly led to an underground cellar with plenty of food and drinks stored there.

Scout smiled as he looked at all this. An abandoned roadhouse would be perfect for them to stay at while they pieced together where they were. He imagined there would be several bedrooms upstairs as well.

"Sully, I don't know who you were, pal, but thanks for ditching this joint." Scout said as he examined the counter. He saw a newspaper and his smile disappeared when he saw the date on it.

"July third... 2046..." He said. "What the fuck? What the fuck is this?" Scout picked up the newspaper and stared at the headline.

 _Omnic Crisis Worsens_

"The fuck is an Omnic?" He muttered as he read the article on the front page. "Robots... Spreads to America and Australia... Governments of the world helpless..." After a moment, he tossed the newspaper back on the counter. He removed his cap and set it down by the newspaper, running his hands through his hair as he tried to figure out what this all meant.

"Oh, fuck me... The teleporter, the god damn teleporter... What the hell did that hard-hat wearing redneck get us into this time?" He muttered. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. After a moment, he exhaled loudly. "Nope, not working." He said. He put his hand on the counter and climbed over it, landing on his feet on the other side. He walked over to the fridge, opened it, took out a bottle of beer and opened it. He hesitated. The beer was not cold and probably not safe to drink. After a moment, he shrugged and drained the bottle in one go. He reached for a second, opened it and drank more slowly.

"God damn fucking... This can't be real, some guy just made shit up. Definitely. When I see the engi, I'll ask him, just make sure... Make sure he didn't send us forward in time seventy god damn years... Ah, fuck..." Scout said. Without finishing his current bottle, he grabbed another and then climbed back over to the other side of the counter, taking a seat and drinking quietly. After ten minutes, he finished the third bottle and took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and rubbing his eyelids with his forefingers while his temples received the same treatment from his thumbs. After a moment longer, he picked up his hat and put it back on.

"Alright, gotta let the boys know I've found a place for us to stay..." He muttered. He stood up and stretched. He paused for just a moment longer and then left, heading back for the trees.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, all, this is the first chapter of my new story. I recently got back into Team Fortress 2 and decided I should write a crossover with it and Overwatch after watching the Death Battle of Tracer vs the Scout. I hope you enjoyed this and be sure to leave a review to tell me what you guys think. I shall write more if people like what they see.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Sniper sat in the branches of a tree, looking down at the three blue-clad soldiers walking through the forest near him. They had not noticed him nor the sniper rifle in his hands. He aimed at the head of one, squinting. Just as he began to apply pressure to the trigger, a hand appeared on his chest.

"No, not yet. We will need the others." Came the voice of the Spy.

"I have a clear shot, mate. If I pop one, I can shoot another before they know where I am. Doubt it'd be too hard to get the third, too." Sniper said.

"I understand, but that is no guarantee and we don't know who these people are." Spy said.

"They're BLUs, fairly obvious from the colour they're wearing." Sniper pointed out. Spy sighed.

"Do they look like mercenaries to you? They wear blue armour, but that symbol on the breastplate, you see? Look at it through your scope." Spy said. Sniper complied and closed his left eye as he got a close look with his right one. There was a circle of sorts on the breastplate with an upward pointing arrowhead inside the circle.

"Alright, fair enough. That's not the BLU team symbol, but still... Better safe than sorry." Sniper said.

"I would not recommend we attack. They don't know we are here yet, they might just move on without discovering anybody." Spy stated. Sniper shrugged. He lowered his rifle. Suddenly, a shrill scream that was not unlike the cry that Soldier made before a fight split the air. Sure enough, Soldier burst from the trees, shotgun trained on one of the soldiers. They looked just as surprised as Sniper felt and when Soldier shot one of them down, Sniper raised his rifle again and put a bullet through the brain of a second.

"For f..." Spy growled, opening his butterfly knife. "Idiots." He said, cloaking. Sniper did not know where the Spy went next.

"Oi, wanker! Hold on for a minute!" Sniper yelled at Soldier.

"We can not let the BLU escape!" Soldier said as the remaining soldier dived behind a tree, out of Snipers' line of sight. Sniper's attention was drawn to the sound of the remaining enemy soldier yelling frantically.

"This is Johnson, I am under fire, repeat, I am under fire! Richards and Washington are dead, requesting immediate evac!" The man yelled.

"Who the fuck is this lad talking to?" Sniper muttered as he climbed down the tree. He reached the base but then was shocked to hear the sound of return fire. He dived to the ground as bullets whizzed by, ripping into the tree and sending splinters flying.

"Do not worry, Sniper! I have this under control!" Soldier yelled, running at the tree and sending a spray of shotgun pellets at the one called Johnson. Most of the pellets missed entirely, the rest hit the tree. It didn't matter, however, as there was a cry of pain and the enemy fell to the ground with a knife embedded in his back. Spy emerged from behind the tree, scowling at Soldier.

"You didn't have to attack, you know. They didn't know we're here." Spy said. Soldier frowned from under his oversized helmet.

"They were BLUs, we kill BLUs." Soldier reasoned. Sniper scowled as he walked up to him, thinking along the same lines as Spy.

"We don't know that, imbecile." Spy said. "We don't even know where we are, what makes you think everyone wearing blue is an enemy on every part of the planet?" At this, Soldier frowned, stroking his chin and resting his shotgun on his shoulder.

"Well... Uh... They wore blue." He said. Spy groaned and Sniper joined him. Sniper, though initially jumpy, had come to the same conclusion as Spy and now they had potentially made an enemy they did not need to make.

"Good job, mate. Weren't you supposed to find shelter rather than pick fights with people we know nothing about?" Sniper asked. "I mean, did we really have to kill them?" Soldier's back stiffened and he took a step towards Sniper, standing uncomfortably close.

"If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight! Sun Tzu said that. And I'd say he knows a little more about fighting than you do pal, because he invented it! And then he perfected it so that no living man could best him in the ring of honour!" Soldier declared, pacing back and forth in front of Sniper and making several powerful hand gestures as he spoke. Sniper rubbed his forehead, scowling.

"Mate, this isn't one of your military strategy seminars. Spy, how many times has he said this to us?" Sniper asked. Spy looked up from the cigarette he was about to light, slightly surprised to hear his name.

"Oh, what? I stopped paying attention to the idiot." Spy said, lighting up and taking a long drag. He put his lighter and cigarette case back in his suit jacket.

"You know, I've half a mind to follow your example. Sucks being the only sane ones in the team, eh?" Sniper asked. Soldier had stopped listening and was giggling to himself incessantly about something.

"The engineer is also sane. Comparatively speaking." Spy pointed out. Sniper nodded, conceding that point to him.

"Scout also kind of sane, I suppose." Sniper mused. Spy scoffed as he let a large puff of smoke fill the air.

"If having an ego as large as his can be called sanity, then I suppose you are right, Sniper, he is... Soldier, what the fuck are you still giggling about?" Spy snapped, glaring at the older man. Soldier grinned and walked over to one of the deceased enemy soldiers, taking his rather advanced looking gun.

"The spoils of war..." Soldier said, giggling all the while.

"Spy, if we find a place, it'd better have some alcohol in it." Sniper said.

"Agreed. Let's split up again, still a day to go before we're due back." Spy said.

"Yeah, but it'll take the better part of a day just to get back. Might as well start heading there now." Sniper point out.

"You misunderstand me. I did not suggest splitting up for practical purposes. My sanity must be preserved at all costs. Walk with Soldier if you like, I'm going." Spy said, cloaking. Sniper shrugged, not begrudging Spy his choice.

"Alright, mate, let's head off." Sniper said. "Leave the bodies, animals have gotta eat too."

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 28 August 2076  
**

Charles sat in his command chair, listening to the final message sent by the team ten minutes ago.

 _"This is Johnson, I am under fire, repeat, I am under fire! Richards and Washington are dead, requesting immediate evac!"_ As the message played again, he gripped the hand-rests on his chair tightly, fury written across his face.

"Sir?" Sarah Peters asked.

"Yes, Peters?" He asked.

"Is everything alright?" She said.

"Oh, it's fine. So, no further messages from the team?" Charles asked.

"None at all. Johnson is probably..." She trailed off.

"Probably dead, yes. Somebody out there murdered my men. I don't care who it was, they should be brought to justice. How many troops do we have?" He asked.

"Sixteen. Sir, I wouldn't advise sending all of them for this. We don't know what we're up against." Sarah reminded him. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"You're right. We're going to need more than just grunts for this, we'll need a special operative. Get me a line to Winston, see if he isn't willing to provide one or two." Charles instructed. She nodded and pulled out her tablet, tapping the holographic screen repeatedly. She looked up, nodding again.

"Winston is free to speak with you. Patching you to Watchpoint: Gibraltar now." She said. A holographic screen appeared in front of Charles and after a moment of static, it cleared to show the simian leader of Overwatch.

"Oh, uh... Hello, Sir Charles." Winston said. "Is there something you wish to speak with me about? I don't mean to be rude but running this organization and making sure orders get carried out is busy work."

"Yes. I've been running Watchpoint: Marion, as you instructed. The other day we picked up a radio message coming from the same area as three large, unidentified energy spikes. We sent men out to investigate, somebody killed them." Charles explained. Winston frowned and briefly moved his head out of frame. When it returned, he was chewing on something. He swallowed before he spoke.

"That is curious. What did you want from me about it?" Winston asked. Charles frowned.

"I wanted... Are you eating a banana?" Charles asked. Winston shook his head frantically and then quickly glanced to the side. He looked like he had just thrown something.

"No, I am not. Continue, Charles." Winston said. Charles rolled his eyes.

"No shame in getting nutrition... Anyway, yes, I wanted to ask you for help. I have sixteen soldiers stationed in this base. I also have no idea what I am up against and I want to beat it. I am requesting you transfer a special operative among the organization to Watchpoint: Marion, if only temporarily. I don't care who, anybody with some kind of advantage over our normal troops. Tracer, McCree, Reinhardt, somebody like that." Charles said. Winston frowned.

"Hmm... I am not sure if I can transfer any such agents. Let me check to see if any are on call, I know McCree is in that area of the US at the moment. But I don't think he's even answered the recall..." Winston murmured as his eyes moved along something out of frame.

"Well?" Charles said after a moment. Winston looked back at him and smiled.

"You're in luck. One such agent is in the area at present and is available. I'll give her the order to go to Watchpoint: Marion, it shouldn't take too long." Winston said. Charles nodded.

"Thank you, Winston. Which agent is it? Have I heard of her?" He asked.

"You probably have. I'll let you guess. Take care, Charles." Winston said. The screen vanished, indicating Winston had disconnected. Charles forced a smile.

"Wonderful, we don't know who it is so we can't make plans yet. Peters, make sure a room is prepared for our new mystery agent." Charles said. Sarah nodded and began tapping the screen on her tablet. Charles looked around, wondering if there was work to do. Then, a siren rang briefly and he sighed with relief.

"Alright, lads, that's lunch!" He yelled. The staff in the command center gave a collective cheer and began clearing out. When everybody had left, Charles grabbed his cane and limped out to get his own lunch.

* * *

Scout stood on the hill, tapping his baseball bat against his right calf as he waited. Nobody had returned yet. He wondered where the rest of the team was. Then, his doubts were put at ease when Heavy emerged from the trees.

"Small man, where is rest of team?" Heavy said when he reached Scout. Scout shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine, big guy. Could be anywhere. None of them should be too long, though." Scout said. As if on cue, red smoke in the shape of a man filled the air next to them and a moment later, Spy emerged from it. Scout jumped in shock.

"Aw, Christ, Spy, you gotta warn us when you do that!" Scout complained. Spy took a long drag on his cigarette, removed it from his mouth and let a huge puff of smoke blow directly into Scout's face. Scout coughed, staggering blindly for a moment before he regained his senses.

"No, I do not." Spy said.

"Asshole." Scout said, rubbing his eyes. Spy said nothing, continuing to smoke in silence. After a minute, Scout turned to scan the trees for signs of movement before he heard the Spy murmur something.

"That'll be the part of your mother I go for next..." Spy said. Scout whipped around, raising his baseball bat.

"The fuck did you just say?" Scout snarled. Spy raised his hands defensively.

"I said, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Spy said innocently around his cigarette. Scout scowled as he lowered his bat. He hadn't quite heard what Spy said but he definitely heard the word 'mother' mentioned, so he supposed Spy must have been telling the truth.

"French man and small man, the doctor is back." Heavy interjected, pointing at the trees. Scout turned and saw the telltale white of the Medic's coat in the trees. Sure enough, the medic stepped out a moment later.

"Hello, friends!" Medic called.

"Hey, how's it goin', doc?" Scout called back. When Medic reached the top of the hill, he shrugged.

"Same old, same old. I did not find anything, did any of you?" Medic asked.

"Yes." Spy and Scout said at the same time. Scout glared at Spy, who glared right back.

"Well, you can tell us when the rest of the team arrives." Medic said. The next person to arrive was the Demoman, who arrived ten minutes later. He had not found anything. Next came the Engineer and finally, Sniper and Soldier emerged from the trees an hour after Demo did.

"Hello, comrades! We got lost!" Soldier yelled.

"He got lost, I didn't give a fuck. Nobody leave me alone with this man again." Sniper said when they reached the top of the hill.

"No promises, pal. So, what now?" Scout said.

"Y'all tell us if your search was any more useful than mine, that's what." Dell said. "Because I didn't find squat."

"I found a place for us to stay." Scout said. Every head turned his way and he grinned, resting his baseball bat on his shoulder. "Yeah, that's right, I am amazing. Take the sight in, I'm here all week, fellas."

"What was this place?" Spy asked.

"A roadhouse, other end of the forest. There's a highway not far from here, the roadhouse has booze and rooms. It's abandoned, so yeah, nobody's gonna mind us moving in for a while. I have a question, Engi, but it can wait until everybody else is done." Scout said.

"Good work, Scout." Dell said. "If there ain't any power, I can probably hook some up. So, what did the rest of you find?"

"Nothing." Demo said.

"I found no home or Pyro." Heavy said.

"Not a thing, I'm afraid." Medic said.

"We found some people who were wearing blue and we killed them all!" Soldier proudly proclaimed.

"Because you thought they were BLUs. We still don't know if they were, by the way." Sniper said.

"Hold up a sec... You found some people in blue and killed them?" Dell asked. Soldier nodded. "And you didn't mention this until now... Because?"

"Didn't think it was important." Soldier said.

"And you, Sniper? Your excuse?" Dell asked.

"I have just sent the better part of a day alone with this psycho cunt, mate. Give me a fucking break." Sniper said.

"I was also there. Did none of you hear gunshots?" Spy asked.

"I did." Scout said. "I thought you guys were just having a party or something." He explained.

"Wonderful. Well, it's done. If we've made an enemy, so be it. If they turned out to be BLUs, then good for us. This roadhouse, Scout, please lead us there." Spy said.

"Hold up there for a minute, Napoleon. Engi, my question." Scout said.

"What's your question, buddy?" Dell asked.

"The modification to the teleporter, yeah? Uh..." Scout stood on his tiptoes for a moment as he pondered how to word it. "Could it have maybe... Sent us forward in time?" Scout asked. Dell shot him a quizzical look.

"What? What gave you that idea?" He asked.

"Well, at the roadhouse, I found a newspaper and... The date on it was 2046." Scout said.

"Aw, hell... I could've, yeah, if the..." He then started speaking technological jargon of which Scout understood none. Scout held up his hand in the middle.

"So it's possible?" Scout asked. Dell removed his hard hat, breathing heavily. His bald scalp was shining with sweat.

"Possible? I'm beginning to think that's exactly what happened. Aw, hell, man." He said.

"That's puttin' it lightly, brother." Scout said.

"Is there any way to send us back?" Spy asked. Dell shrugged.

"I don't know. Let's just confirm that it's what happened, alright? Then we can figure out how to fix it." Dell said.

"Right, see if we really fucked up before we try and fix the fuck-up. Scout, mate, lead on to the roadhouse." Sniper said. Scout nodded and began walking down the hill. The rest of the team followed him.

* * *

 **Sully's Roadhouse, Iowa, 29 August 2076  
**

Scout stepped out of the trees. The roadhouse had not unexpectedly vanished while he had been gone.

"Boys, I present to you Sully's Roadhouse." Scout said. As the rest of the team emerged from the forest, they took in the view.

"She don't look like much, but it'll do while we figure things out." Dell said, putting his hands on his hips and admiring the building. "Just the type of place we like."

"Yeah, I thought so too. It's red and... Well, yeah." Scout said.

"Yes, truly captivating. Let's stop standing around, shall we?" Spy said, leading the way to the house. They went in and entered through the front double-doors. Everything was just the way Scout remembered. The team began spreading out through the large room. Scout walked over to the pool table and poked one of the balls into a pocket.

"What in sam hill is an omnic?" Came the voice of the engineer. Scout turned around to see him reading the same newspaper Scout had read earlier.

"Beats me. Best I can figure, some kind of robot. Like on uh... Like on Doctor Who." Scout said.

"Doctor Who, that show with the time traveling alien? Didn't they recast that guy?" Sniper said as he began fiddling with the jukebox.

"I think so, a couple times. Hey, Demo, you're British, you watch that show, right? Who's the current guy?" Scout said.

"I am Scottish, lad, not British. And yes, I watch that show. The current doctor is Jon Pertwee. William Hartnell was better." Demo said, climbing over the counter to get at the fridge. "Hey, lads, there's no power, the beer is gonna be warm."

"If there's a generator around I can tinker with it, get some power going. If not, no power." Dell said. "I'll go down into that cellar there, might find a generator. Y'all just make yourselves at home while I'm down there." At this, he walked past Demo and down the staircase, disappearing into the cellar.

"How can I be expected to make myself at home without a cold beer?" Demo complained.

"Have a warm one. Hey, Demo, ain't you more of a whiskey person?" Scout asked.

"Beer is fine, too. I dinnae bring any of my whiskey with me." Demo replied.

"Alright, that's... Interesting." Scout said. He turned and noticed that in the corner, there was a gumball machine he had not noticed when he first arrived. Soldier was currently fiddling with it at the moment. As Scout observed, Sniper joined him in watching.

"You have any idea what he's doing?" Sniper asked.

"He is stealing candy." Scout said. "Smart man."

"It's getting a little dark out, hopefully the engineer gets power on before we're blind in here." Sniper commented.

"Hopefully. Who wants to wind down with a warm beer, fellas?" Scout said. A collective half-hearted cheer rose up from the team as they all headed for the bar. Demo, being the only one behind it, took it upon himself to act as the bartender.

"Alright, lads, who wants what?" Demo asked.

"Just give us all beer, Demo." Spy said. "It's the only drink in there."

"There's probably more stuff down in the cellar." Scout said.

"If there is vodka, I will have that. If not, I want nothing." Heavy said.

"Suit yourself, lad. Beers for the rest of us comin' right up." Demo said. He grabbed five bottles from the fridge and handed one to each person sitting. After that, he grabbed one for himself and sat down with them.

"Here's to us. Time traveling idiots." Scout said, raising his beer.

"Hear, hear." Demo said, tapping his bottle against Scout's. They all joined in the toast, opened their beers and drank deeply.

"Ah, like Oktoberfest already." Medic said. "Only the beer is warm and in a bottle. And there are no beautiful German women in traditional dress." As he said this, the lights flickered on and Scout heard cheering from below them. The fridge began humming and lit up while the jukebox began playing a folk song that none of them knew. A minute later, Dell emerged from the cellar.

"There was a generator and it didn't take too much effort to turn on. Oh, we're having beers." He said. He grabbed one from the fridge and sat with Demo, opening it and drinking.

"Dell, tell us what you think about this time traveling idea." Spy said as he drank.

"I think it's pretty likely. The newspapers seem legit and all the tech I've seen so far in this building is more advanced than anything from the 20th century. Say, those boys in blue that y'all killed, did their guns seem particularly advanced?" Dell replied.

"I stole one, you can have a look, son." Soldier said.

"That'd be good, I can look at it later. So, these newspapers say 2046, but this place has been abandoned for a while. I'd like to figure out an exact date." Dell said, shifting in his seat.

"What about where we are?" Scout asked.

"Didn't you read that paper? We're in Iowa, off the I-29. I saw a map downstairs, the closest city is Marion. Pretty far from RED Bread, but I'd say the geography don't matter all that much until we find a way to get back to 1971. It'd be easier to figure out how to do that if we know what year we're in." Dell continued.

"It's good that Scout found this place, we may need to stay a while." Spy said. "Was there any food down in that cellar?"

"Oh, plenty. Most of it is inedible now but I saw quite a bit of canned food and plenty more booze, we shouldn't need to worry." Dell said.

"Good. Since we'll be here around, we should arrange some routines. Relax today, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we work." Spy said.

"I'll drink to that." Scout said, draining his bottle.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 29 August 2076**

Charles sat in the command center, twiddling his thumbs. Suddenly, Sarah walked up to him.

"Sir, we just got a call. The new agent is nearly here." She said.

"Bollocks, I need to... Any idea who it is yet?" Charles said as he stood, wincing in pain. "Damn leg..."

"Not a clue, we'll find out when she steps through the elevator. She's British, that's all I got from listening to her speak." Sarah replied.

"Oh, that narrows it down. Alright, let's go." He said. They walked out of the command center, down the flight of stairs and into the corridor leading past the mess hall and into the main hall. The command center was visible above through a glass wall. Charles and Sarah walked over to the lift on the far wall and waited. The light above it suddenly went on, indicating it was in use. Charles tightened his grip on his cane. There was a dinging noise and the light went out as the doors to the lift slid open. From the lift stepped a thin, brown-haired and pale woman wearing a brown flight jacket, orange leggings and white shoes. Between her breasts was a strange contraption that glowed bright blue. She smiled at Charles from her orange goggles.

"Hullo, loves. The cavalry is 'ere. Why is your entrance in a toilet?" She said.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. Lena Oxton, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've read your file." Charles said as he stepped forward to shake her hand. She took it and shook firmly, grinning. "My name is-"

"Charles Chaplin, I've heard of you. Read your file, too. Is it true you earned a Victoria Cross before you joined Overwatch?" She said.

"I did. Two years in the British Army before the Omnic Crisis, earning that medal is my proudest achievement. Well, that and joining Overwatch. This is Sarah Peters, my head of communications. She doesn't talk much, ironically enough." Charles said. Lena smiled and shook Sarah's hand.

"Good to meet you, love. Say, that's a nice coat. Really well fitted, where'd you get it?" She asked. Sarah looked a little uncomfortable.

"Shop in Brooklyn. It was on sale." Sarah replied. Lena gasped.

"No way! So, anyway, what am I here for?" She asked.

"Combat operation. Walk with me, please. You too, Peters." Charles said. He began walking slowly through the room with the two women beside him. "The other day, we picked up three large unidentified energy spikes and a radio message from a man by the name of Scout. At least, I assume that's his name. Or some kind of call sign, not unlike yours. Anyway, we sent three men to investigate. We received a message from them, saying they were under attack. We haven't heard from them since. Somebody killed my men. I want you to lead a small task-force to find out who did it and, if possible, to kill them."

"Seems easy enough. Any reason why you needed somebody like me for it and couldn't just use your own men?" She asked.

"Because I don't know what we're up against. It could just be criminals that my men could easily put down. With those energy spikes though, I'm not inclined to believe it is. I suspect Talon might be involved. I believe you're familiar with that group?" Charles asked. Lena's face darkened and she nodded.

"I was there when one of their operatives murdered Tekhartha Mondatta, yes. I see why you called Winston, now. When am I off?" She asked.

"Tomorrow. You'll have six men under your command. Try not to get them killed." Charles responded.

"Not to worry, mate. With any luck I won't even need them. I'll acquaint myself with the base, if you don't mind." She said.

"Of course. Peters, show Miss Oxton around." Charles said. Sarah nodded.

"Come on, Tracer." When they began walking off and undoubtedly when Sarah thought he could not hear, he heard her say: "He called you Miss Oxton. He never calls me Miss Peters, just Peters."

"If you'd like, I can call you in for disciplining." Charles called, whacking his cane against the wall twice in rapid succession. Tracer burst out laughing and Charles smirked, limping for the command center.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, people. Chapter 2 here and what you might notice is it's been uploaded the day after chapter 1. Don't expect chapters being released in such quick succession to be a regular thing, I'm releasing the first three chapters within a couple days of each-other to get some foundations laid for the story and to get people interested. After chapter 3 is out, the update schedule will be biweekly. Thanks for reading and to the people who left reviews, thanks a bunch for the feedback. All feedback is useful so be sure to let me know what you think and how I can improve.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sully's Roadhouse, 30 August 2076**

Scout stood, utterly concentrated. His body was taut, his eyes narrowed as he leaned down. He wiped the sweat off his brow and removed his cap, tossing it aside as he prepared himself.

"This is intense, boys." Soldier said, barely above a whisper, putting one arm around Demo's shoulder and the other around Medic's as he shook in his combat boots.

"Shh, you must let him concentrate or else he could screw it up..." Medic said, placing a finger over his lips.

"Quiet, fellas, gotta get it just... Right!" Scout said, knocking the pool cue against the white ball. It shot across the table and into the triangle of balls arrayed at the other end, hitting the striped ball that had been placed immediately to the left and behind the front ball. The balls scattered and two striped balls fell into a single pocket. He rose to his full height, waving the cue around and whooping.

"Oh yeah! I am a legend! Did you see that? Two at once! Fuckin' amazing! We call that the Boston Nutsack in my family!" Scout said, pumping his left fist while waving the cue around in his right hand. "Top that, didgeridoo!"

"Can't yet, mate. Your turn." Sniper said, leaning against the wall and chalking his cue.

"Yeah, alright. Pass me the chalk, buddy, I don't want to screw up." Scout said. Sniper tossed him the chalk and he caught it. He applied it to his cue and then lined up another shot. He felt a tingling in his nose, but ignored it. This decision was a bad one as just as he prepared to strike the white ball, he sneezed, missing his mark somewhat and sending the ball in the wrong direction. It bounced off the edge of the table and into a solid ball, moving it in between two other solid balls that rested by a pocket. The white ball came to rest an inch away from these three and Scout's eyes widened.

"Mate, if you aren't even gonna make it challenging for me," Sniper said, moving and putting the three solids into the pocket with a light tap of the white ball. "Then you can keep your Boston Scrote." At this, he lined up another shot and sent a solid bouncing off the edge of the table into a pocket. Suddenly, the sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention to the staircase.

"Gentlemen." Spy said, coming down the stairs that led to the second floor. From what Scout could see of his mouth underneath the balaclava, he had just shaved. "If we are quite finished talking about male genitalia, we have work to do."

"Aw, come on, Spy, we just started!" Scout complained.

"Yeah, Spy, they just stahted!" Soldier said. Scout shot him a cold glance.

"You making fun of my accent, Soldier?" Scout asked. Soldier frowned.

"I thought we were making jokes about Boston." Soldier explained.

"No, the jokes are done." Spy interjected. "After speaking with Mr Conagher, we have a list of things that need doing. Medic, you are to turn one of the spare bedrooms into an infirmary to use for the duration of our stay." Spy said.

"I can do that. What shall Herr Conagher be doing?" Medic asked.

"Setting up machines and restoring the place to some semblance of order while we're here. Sniper, your job is to sit by one of the back windows with your rifle and watch for any more of the soldiers that we fought." Spy said.

"Long as I got an errand boy to make me some coffee while I'm watching our asses, I can do that." Sniper said.

"Fetch your own coffee." Spy snapped. Sniper raised his hands in the air, shrugging.

"Alright, alright. If anybody sneaks in and kills us all whenever I'm getting a brew, it's on you." Sniper said.

"I am willing to live with that possibility. Soldier, you watch the road. Demo, you and Scout are to search the forest." Spy said.

"What for?" Scout inquired.

"The Pyro is still missing. I don't imagine you will find him but we have to try." Spy explained. "Now get to it." He said, pulling out and opening his cigarette case. Nobody moved. "Now!" He snapped as he pulled out a cigarette. Scout picked up his cap, put it on and picked up his baseball bat, which was propped against the wall.

"Alright, let's go, Demo." Scout said. Demo grumbled as he retrieved his grenade launcher.

* * *

Tracer carefully picked her way through the dense undergrowth of the forest. Behind her, half a dozen soldiers followed her lead, their guns ready. Tracer had her pulse pistols out and ready to fire at a moment's notice. Two hours earlier, they had found the bodies of the previous team. They loaded the bodies up onto the van they had used to travel to the forest and now, the driver of that van was ready to zoom in at a word from Tracer. As Tracer walked, one of the soldiers tapped her on the shoulder.

"Tracer, this forest is going on forever. Permission to climb a tree and have a look around with the binoculars." The soldier, whose name was Ryan, said.

"Of course, love. Be careful. Wouldn't want any splinters to disappoint the wife, yeah?" Tracer said, giggling. Ryan chuckled.

"She doesn't even know I'm here. She thinks I'm on a six-month business trip to Hawaii. Guess I can pretend that the splinters came from a palm tree." He said. Tracer smiled.

"Alright, go on up. Lads, let's hold position here while he scouts for us." She said. The soldiers crowded around the tree, speaking in hushed tones. Tracer leaned against it, putting her pistols in their holsters while she took in the view. The forest was quite beautiful. The birds were singing and everything was peaceful. Suddenly, she was brought out of her trance by the sounds of rustling leaves. She scanned the trees in her field of vision and noticed some branches shaking by one briefly before remaining still. The only noises were the birds, the gentle swaying of the trees in the wind and the sounds of her men talking. She looked at her men for a moment. None of them seemed to have noticed. She frowned and drew one of her pistols, slowly stepping forward. If she heard any more such noises, she would Blink behind the tree that made it and open fire on whatever she saw.

"What is going on..." She muttered, slowly walking to the tree that the rustling had come from. She rested her hand on it, looking it up and down. It was a tall and thick tree, its enormous base two meters in diameter. The tree must have been quite old. She began to walk around it, determined to know what had made the noise. Suddenly, her attention was drawn away by her radio activating.

"Tracer, I've spotted a place! Old, rustic building by a road. Looks to be a roadhouse of some sort. Doesn't look like much, but it might be a start." Ryan said. Tracer instantly forgot about the noise and grinned, turning and Blinking to the tree Ryan had climbed up. She holstered her pistol and climbed up quickly, soon joining the man in the leaves atop the tree.

"'Ello. Pass me the binoculars and point to where you found." She said. He handed her the binoculars and pointed south. She followed his finger and saw the building he was talking about, looking intently through the binoculars.

"Looks like a good place to start. Better than combing the whole forest for the bastards what killed our boys." She said, handing the binoculars back to Ryan.

"I thought so too." Ryan said.

"Alright, you climb down and get the guys ready. There's just something I want to check out and then we'll head off." Tracer said. She Blinked down the tree and then strode at a brisk pace back to the tree she had been inspecting before. Drawing her pistols, she went around to the other side. There was nothing there. She frowned and turned her head, looking over her shoulder at yet more of the damned trees. She had the feeling she was being watched. She paused for a moment and then rejoined the soldiers as the group set off for the building they had spotted.

* * *

Sniper sat on the chair he had dragged to the window. He was grateful that somebody had taken the time to board it up before they left as it was a simple matter of removing one of the planks and he had a near perfect position to snipe from. He had a good view of the forest and he was afforded a great deal of cover by the planks. He picked up his coffee mug from the crate he had dragged to the wall by the window and took a sip, maintaining a grip on his sniper rifle with his left hand as he did so. He set the mug down and glanced at the crate. He had refilled the cup many times over the course of the day and consequentially, this had allowed him to fill a jar of Jarate and he had started on the second. From the feeling in his lower abdomen, he would likely need to add to the reserve soon.

After ten more minutes, he had finally finished his coffee. He sighed, withdrawing his rifle from the window, resting it against a wall and standing.

"Time for a refill." He muttered, picking up the mug. "Don't go anywhere." He said to his rifle as he turned and left the room. He walked past the other bedrooms until he reached the staircase and then he went down them at a sort of half-jog. When he reached the bottom, he entered the main room and saw Soldier sitting playing cards with Heavy.

"Hello, Sniper!" Soldier said enthusiastically from behind his cards without looking up. "Go fish."

"G'day." Sniper said as he walked to the bar and specifically, the coffee machine Engineer had found in the cellar that now found its home on the counter. He set about making himself another cup.

"Go fish." Heavy said. Sniper turned around and examined the two as they played. Neither seemed to know the rules and they just alternated who said 'Go Fish' every few seconds. He sighed and took off his slouch hat, flicking a few hairs off of it and then running his hand through his hair.

"Aren't you two supposed to be watching for potential attackers?" Sniper asked.

"Nobody is coming, son. Go fish. Might as well enjoy ourselves." Soldier explained.

"Go fish." Heavy said. Sniper frowned.

"What possible enjoyment can you two be getting? You're not even playing the game." Sniper said.

"It kills time. Go fish." Soldier said. "We don't know the rules."

"Sniper misunderstands. If danger come, Sniper gunshot will alert us. We will know. Go fish." Heavy said. Sniper scowled and opened his mouth to speak. But then he heard a ding from the coffee machine.

"Coffee's done, my mandatory twenty seconds of giving a shit is over." He said, grabbing his coffee and putting his hat back on.

"Goodbye, Sniper." Soldier said. He walked back to the stairs as Soldier and Heavy continued their game. When he reached his room, he took a sip from his coffee and set it down on the crate. He sat and picked up the sniper rifle, sliding the barrel through the gap between planks in the middle. After a minute, he took another sip of coffee and began humming 'Waltzing Matilda'.

* * *

Scout and Demo had been searching through the forest all day. They had split up a few hours ago and met up again an hour previously. Still no sign of the Pyro.

"God damn it, the guy's fucking vanished." Scout muttered. "Not a damn-" He began. Demo cut him off with a hand over Scout's mouth.

"Quiet, lad... I heard somethin'..." Demo muttered. "Somebody talking..." The two approached a large, thick tree with a base two meters in diameter. Scout and Demo split up, going around either side of the tree. Scout poked his head around and saw six people around another tree as a seventh climbed up it. Five of the people around the tree were men wearing blue combat armour, the sixth was an attractive woman with brown hair, pale skin, orange goggles, a brown flight jacket, orange leggings and white shoes. Scout squinted to get a better look at the woman, liking what he saw. There was some strange machine on her chest. He took a step and disturbed several leaves. The leaves made an audible noise and he cursed as he quickly hid behind the tree. He looked to the sight and flinched to see Demo was also there.

"What the fuck made that noise?" Demo whispered. They could hear somebody slowly stepping towards them. Scout cursed again. He hadn't brought either of his guns, just his baseball bat.

"If she comes around, I'll smash her teeth in and you send a grenade around, yeah?" Scout whispered. Demo nodded and readied his grenade launcher as Scout tightened his grip on his bat. The footsteps stopped for a moment before picking up again. It sounded like she was walking around it. Scout's palms were a little sweaty and he wiped them on his pants one at a time. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped when somebody yelled from the tree:

"Tracer, I've spotted a place! Old, rustic building by a road. Looks to be a roadhouse of some sort. Doesn't look like much, but it might be a start." Scout breathed a sigh of relief as some kind of whooshing sound gave them a moment of respite.

"This is our cue, Demo, pick another tree!" Scout hissed, rushing for another large tree. He began climbing up, grabbing low-hanging branches and pulling himself up in the tree until he was hidden in the leaves. Demo had simply opted to hide behind another tree. They had made the right call and sure enough, the woman called Tracer came back, going around the tree to where the two of them had been hiding a moment before. She carried a pistol in each hand now. She stood staring at the tree for a moment before looking over her shoulder. Scout flinched when it looked like she was staring directly at him. But then she rejoined her companions and they set off in the direction of the roadhouse. Scout rolled over, resting his back on a thick branch and sighing with relief.

"Oh, thank God..." He muttered. They had been in no position to fight seven enemies at that moment, even with the element of surprise. After a moment, he climbed back down the tree and walked over to Demo.

"I think they're headed for the roadhouse, lad." Demo said when Scout approached.

"Yeah, I heard the guy too. We can't go straight back, we might run into 'em. We'll circle around, take the long way. With any luck, the others will be able to deal with them just fine until we get there." Scout said.

"Sounds like a plan to me, lad. Let's go." Demo said. They set off, moving in a wide berth around where they thought the other group was and making their way back to the Roadhouse.

* * *

As the sun began to set, still Sniper sat at the window, eyes peeled for the first sign of danger. He had long since lost count of how many cups of coffee he had had and he doubted he would be able to sleep at all that night. In the next room, he could hear the Medic moving around. Downstairs, the Soldier and Heavy were listening to the Engineer play his guitar. Sniper did not know what Spy had been doing the past day, but he did not care. He had had way too much coffee.

"Demo and Scout should have been back by now..." He muttered. He growled in frustration as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He put the glasses back on and stared down the scope of his rifle, scanning the trees for signs of life. After a while, he gave up on trying to find anything and continued looking around for a moment more before moving his eye away. But then as he sat up and stretched, his brain processed the flash of bright blue he had spotted in the final moment before he looked away. He swore loudly and looked back through the scope. He saw a woman with two pistols in the treeline, some strange, blue glowing device on her chest. Behind her, Sniper counted two men in blue armour.

"Ah, bugger... Well mate, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it's gonna hurt me..." He muttered, taking aim and beginning to apply pressure to the trigger.

* * *

Tracer walked out of the Forest, grateful for a sight that wasn't trees. She saw the house and grinned. She heard some of her men emerging with her.

"Well loves, let's fan out and-" She said before a loud crack followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground behind her indicated they were under fire. "Take cover!" She screamed, scrambling back and diving behind a tree. Her troops did the same, rushing to cover before the unseen assailant could hit them. The birds in the trees took wing en masse and Tracer glanced to her left, seeing the fallen figure of one soldier in a pool of his own blood, a hole in his head.

"Tracer, there's a sniper! What do we do?" Ryan yelled.

"I noticed, let me think!" She said. She could easily avoid him if she was quick, it wouldn't be too much trouble to Blink out of his line of sight. But the rest of the team was not nearly as mobile as her and she didn't want any more of them dying if they didn't have to. She took a deep breath and ran out of cover, blindly firing her pulse pistols at the house. Before she could see if her spray of fire had hit anything, she Blinked behind another tree just as she heard the telltale cracking of the sniper rifle firing again.

"Alright, you lot stay put! I'm gonna try and get up there!" Tracer yelled. "Ryan, send a message back to the Watchpoint, let the commander know we've run into trouble!" She said.

"Copy that!" Ryan replied. Tracer ducked out of cover, sending a hail of pulse rounds up at the window. She Blinked forward as the sniper returned fire and then dashed, unable to slow herself down until she ran into the wall, grunting in pain. She took a deep breath and looked up. She could make out the barrel of the sniper rifle. There were few decent handholds on the wall and she decided it would be impossible to get up there by climbing. She could hear a commotion inside, the sounds of several people scrambling into action. She listened intently and as she heard the sounds of doors being forced open, she waited a moment and then smashed one of the planks on the window with her pistol. It took two hits to break it and send the plank flying to the floor inside and she repeated the process on a second. She then used her Blink ability to speed up time for her and give her enough time to climb through the window before the enemy could circle around the building and find her. She crouched on the floor inside the building, not looking at her surroundings but instead staring out the window. Outside, she could see a tall man with a helmet and a shotgun standing with a massive, bulky man with a shaven head carrying a minigun. She turned away and studied the room she was in. It was a bar, with a pool table and jukebox in the corner and several tables and chairs scattered across the room. She saw the staircase leading up on the far side of the room and ran for it, ducking and weaving around tables and taking the stairs two at a time when she reached them.

When she reached the top, she looked to the right and saw a corridor. At the far side of the corridor, the door into a room hung ajar. She began running for it before one door that was closer opened and a man in overalls and a hard-hat ran out.

"Sorry love, not now!" She said, leaping over him and sending a snap-shot with one pulse pistol at his back as he drew a pistol. The man gasped in pain and hit the ground hard. She landed gracefully on her feet and continued running down the corridor, not missing a beat. As she did so, she could hear the sound of a minigun firing. She did not let this deter her as she skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor and Blinked into the room. She found herself standing right next to the sniper as he sat by the window.

"Psst, what you lookin' at?" She asked, lashing out with her foot and kicking the sniper in the face. He was sent reeling and landed on the floor in a heap. She raised her pistols and prepared to fire before he dove forward, sliding underneath her between her legs and grabbing her ankles. The momentum of his lunge sent her to the ground and her pistols went flying. She lay in a heap with the sniper and she desperately untangled herself, trying to rise to reach one of her pistols. The man grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back to him, grabbing her shoulder with his other hand, turning her over and punching her in the face savagely. She gasped in pain as she was momentarily blinded from the blow to her nose. When her vision cleared a moment later, the man was standing and had just grabbed a kukri from a crate which she had not noticed before.

"Wave goodbye to your head, wanker!" He yelled, running at her and slashing downwards. Tracer rolled to the side and kicked him in the ankle. He yelled in pain and crashed into the ground. She crawled for one of her pistols but as she reached for it, her leg exploded in agony as the blade raked across her calf. She recoiled and kicked at the air wildly. Her foot connected with something and she heard the sound of glasses shattering followed by the man yelling in pain. She slowly rose to her feet and turned to see he was also on his feet. A shattered glasses frame lay on the ground and the sniper tossed his kukri to his other hand, then back not a moment later. He began running at her, slashing. She ducked, ignoring the throbbing in her leg. She punched him hard in the gut and he gasped, sinking to his knees. She took the opportunity to limp over to the other side of the room and catch her breath. She wiped the sweat off her brow and turned to face the sniper. He ran at her again and she Blinked beside him. He stood by the window and she stood next to him. She tackled him and they smashed through the planks in the window, flying out of it. Just as they were about to hit the ground, she used her Recall ability and found herself back in the room standing by the window. She retrieved her guns and looked out of the window and saw the sniper had hit the ground outside rather hard.

She took the moment to survey the battlefield. Many trees had been torn to shreds and two more soldiers lay dead. Thankfully, the man with the minigun had stopped firing and he and his comrade were looking at the sniper she had just sent out the window. As she Blinked down and stood behind him, she listened to their exchange.

"So, is Sniper alive or do we have problem?" The large one said. The one with the helmet examined him and noticed that the sniper was moving and moaning in pain.

"He is not dead! He is going to live FOREVER!" The one with the helmet proudly proclaimed.

"Fuck you, Soldier..." The sniper moaned. "The bitch that did it is right fucking behind you, you morons!" After that, he seemed to have passed out and the two turned around.

"Stop right there, miss!" The one called Soldier said. "That is an order!" She shot him. Several pulse rounds into his chest and he hit the ground, groaning in pain as the big one charged her. She ducked aside and Blinked back to the trees.

"What took you so long?" Ryan said. Tracer looked to the side and saw him cowering behind a shredded tree stump.

"Getting rid of their sniper." She said. The big one had taken the Soldier's shotgun and was now running for the trees, yelling angrily at her. Suddenly, a loud yelling was heard from the trees.

"Not one of ya's gonna survive this!" Somebody yelled. Tracer looked at where the voice had come from and saw a man with several grenades on his shoulders. The man was tall, black and wore an eye-patch.

"Now might be a good time to run, loves." She said nervously. She began sprinting through the trees and her men followed suit.

"Yeah, you dandies had better run! Fuck you! Fuck you all, we'll send ya back to yer mothers in a soup can one of these days!" The man, who Tracer now observed to be Scottish, slurred at them as they ran. There were many explosions behind them and she moved double time until she was gasping for her and couldn't run any more. She tripped on a tree root and crashed into the ground. Ryan and the other two surviving men soon caught up with her. Ryan doubled over and coughed violently.

"That went well." Tracer said when she had finally recovered. As this happened, she began to feel pain in her calf. "Ow... There goes the adrenaline." She said, sitting against the tree and bringing her knees up to her chest. She shut her eyes tightly, resting her forehead on her knees as she tried to ignore the pain. Then, her eyes opened wide again and her head snapped upwards when she heard yelling.

"Yo, what's a guy gotta do to give a good beating around here?" The man who spoke emerged from the trees. He was thin, wore red and had a cap on his head. He carried a baseball bat. Tracer rose unsteadily to her feet and her men aimed their guns.

"You've made a mistake, mate." Tracer said, stepping forward. "There's four of us, one of you." As she said this, she aimed her pistols.

"More for me." He said, running forward and smashing his baseball bat into Ryan's gut. Ryan collapsed, groaning in pain. Gunshots rang out but the man was fast. Tracer blinked in front of him and ducked the swing from his baseball bat, tripping him with her good leg. She straightened her back and took a deep breath as he hit the ground behind her. A moment later, she heard something that made her go bright red.

"Whoa now, that is an ass if I ever saw one. Maybe you're right there, sweetheart, I am powerless to resist." The man said. She whipped around and trained her pistols on his face.

"Now we've got you here," She said as her two men took aim at him. "Tell us who you guys fight for."

"Oh, I don't know if I can do that. Hey, toots, if I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? My name's Scout, by the way." He said, taking what she assumed he thought to be a seductive pose.

"Umm... No." Tracer said, blushing profusely. She lowered her pistols a little, thrown off by his demeanour. She glanced to the side when she heard Ryan rising to his feet. Ryan aimed his gun at Scout's head.

"Answer her fucking question or I'll blow your god damn brains out." Ryan snarled. Scout raised one hand.

"Yeah, hold up there for a second pal. I'm gonna stand up real slow here, don't you guys shoot me. I'll leave my bat where it is." He said. He slowly stood.

"Tell us who you fight for, Scout. Why did you bastards kill three of our men?" Ryan demanded. Tracer nodded, still a little distracted.

"Uh, what he said..." She muttered.

"Well, that's an interesting question to ask. You see, I actually didn't kill any of your boys. That was Soldier and from what I hear, our little de facto leader is not pleased about it. As for who we fight for, well, that's an even better question. How about this, quid pro quo. I answered your question, you answer one of mine." Scout said. Ryan looked at Tracer.

"Well?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure." She said.

"Go ahead, then." Ryan said. Everybody seemed to have calmed down a bit, which Tracer was grateful for.

"What year is it?" Scout asked.

"What?" Tracer asked. "You want to-"

"Answer the question, sugar. I just want the year." Scout said. "Hey, can you lower the guns, this feels like the first time I got arrested, Christ." He said. "I'll just rest my head on the hood of your car here while you cuff me, I swear, I never saw this suitcase before in my life, Officer, I don't know how it got there."

"It's 2076." Tracer said, hoping to stop his little tirade.

"Two thousand and... OK, that is worse than I thought. Alright then, sweetheart, I'll answer your question, if you answer me one more. How about you send these boys away so you and me can better acquaint ourselves in a somewhat sexual fashion?" He asked, grinning. Tracer walked over to him and smashed the butt of her pistol into his temple. He was unconscious before he hit the ground and she was bright red a moment before that. She turned to Ryan and the other two.

"We'll get the answers back at base, yeah, guys? Let's get him to the van, quickly. Let's hope we weren't followed." She said.

"Alright, sure. Dave, can you carry him?" Ryan said. One of the soldiers nodded and picked Scout up, throwing him over his shoulders. They began to walk through the forest. As they did, Tracer turned on her radio.

"Tracer to Watchpoint: Marion, you copy?" She said. There was a brief delay and then the voice of Sarah Peters answered.

"Hey, Tracer. We heard you were under fire, good to see you guys are still alive and kicking." Sarah said.

"Thanks, Sarah. Where's the Commander?" Tracer asked.

"He's currently taking a shower, but I can get a message to him." Sarah replied.

"Alright. We got away, lost three men. They guys who did it are located at an old roadhouse along a highway. I wounded a few of them but I don't know if I killed anybody. We took a prisoner, though." Tracer said.

"A prisoner, that's good. We can interrogate him when you get back to base. Is that all?" She asked.

"Yeah, it is. I'll see you later, Sarah." Tracer said.

"You too." The radio then went silent and the team walked in silence.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Alright, that'll be the last chapter for a couple weeks. Apologies for not having Scout beat the crap out of Tracer as a couple people requested in the reviews. Thanks for reading and be sure to leave a review, as any feedback is appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

Spy frowned as the roadhouse came into view. He had been walking down the road after some exploration and on his way back, he had heard many gunshots. Now, as the roadhouse drew nearer, he could see that several of the trees near it had been torn apart. He quickened his pace.

When he reached the roadhouse, he examined the scene closer. Dozens of trees had been ripped to pieces. Three corpses were among them and hundreds of spent ammunition casings lay discarded on the ground. Multiple splintered planks lay on the ground. He looked at the roadhouse and saw the window before him had lost several of the planks used to board it up. The window on the floor above had received similar treatment. He walked around the building and through the front doors. The bottom floor remained relatively unchanged from when he had left that morning. A couple of chairs had been thrown to the ground and multiple planks lay on the floor by the window. Frowning, he walked upstairs.

When he reached the top, he noticed multiple doors were open. The door to the infirmary hung ajar and from inside, Spy could hear talking. He walked to the door and went through. Inside, Soldier and Sniper both lay on beds. Soldier was shirtless and had several bandages around his torso, his helmet and clothing lay on the floor beside him. Sniper was covered in lacerations and bruises and Medic was in the process of bandaging them. Engineer sat on a chair, tuning a guitar. Demo and Scout were nowhere to be seen and Heavy sat next to Engineer, his arms folded over his chest.

"Doc, there's a fancy dressed man..." Soldier slurred. Everyone looked at Spy. Medic continued to put bandages around Sniper.

"Hello, Spy. Hmm, looks like a broken arm..." Medic said, prodding Sniper's shoulder. Sniper winced.

"Fucking bitch was quick, mate. She could do this weird... Thing, where all of a sudden she was this blue blur and then she was somewhere else." Sniper said. Spy frowned.

"What happened here?" He asked.

"BLU team attacked... Crazy orange pant lady shot me... The good doctor gave me morphine..." Soldier said, shifting in the bed.

"Crazy orange... Medic, please explain this to me." Spy said, rubbing his forehead. Medic nodded as he wrapped a bandage around Sniper's shoulder.

"While you were gone, several men wearing blue armour attacked us. A woman was leading them, she wore the orange pants Soldier is describing and apparently had some strange device on her chest." Medic explained. Soldier giggled.

"Titty machine..." He muttered. Medic stood to his full height, pulled a needle from his coat jacket and walked over to Soldier.

"What are you doing, doc?" Soldier asked, cocking his head to the side and continuing to giggle like a child.

"Hold out your arm." Medic instructed. Soldier did as instructed and Medic inserted the needle, injecting Soldier with something. He withdrew the needle and stepped back. Soldier frowned and then lay back, his eyes closing.

"Oh, say, can you seeeeee..." Soldier muttered in a sing-song tone. He began slurring something to that tune and moments later, he was unconscious.

"What did you give him?" Spy asked.

"A very strong sleeping drug. His talking was getting annoying." Medic said. Spy scratched his head.

"Should he be having that with morphine?" He asked. Medic chuckled.

"No. As I was saying before, these people attacked. The soldiers in blue did not cause any harm but the woman got in. First, she shot Dell once, but it did not harm him greatly. Then, she threw Herr Mundy out the window. After that, she shot the Soldier repeatedly and then they were driven off when the Demoman came." Medic explained. Spy sighed angrily. This was all too much to take in. He took out his box of cigarettes, took one out and then prepared to light up. As he did so, his attention was drawn by Sniper.

"Oi, Spy. Give me one of those." Sniper said, grunting in pain as he sat up on the bed.

"I thought you quit." Spy said around his cigarette as he lit it. He took a long drag.

"I did, yeah. Mate, I've had about a thousand of those 'last cigarettes' that people keep talking about. Each one is better than the last. Gimme a fag." Sniper insisted. Spy rolled his eyes, walked over to Sniper and handed him a cigarette and the lighter. With some difficulty, Sniper lit up and handed the lighter back to Spy. He put it and the box back in his suit jacket.

"If she shot Soldier several times, how is he still alive?" Spy inquired.

"She seemed to be using some kind of advanced gun that did not fire bullets. From what Dell has said, it substitutes the power of individual rounds for sheer volume of fire." Medic said. "I did not see it personally, unfortunately.

"I didn't get much of a look either, she'd jumped over me and shot me in the back before I could get a good look." Dell said as he struck a chord on the guitar.

"Oh, how far technology has come in the future. Where is Scout?" Spy said. Medic shrugged.

"The Demo said that they split up when they heard gunshots, Scout was to run into the woods in case they tried to flee, which they did do. I would guess he is dead." Medic said. Spy took his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, breathing out a large puff of smoke and considering this news for a moment. He shrugged and put it back in.

"Hey, Spy, where were you, anyway?" Dell asked.

"Collecting data. These men may return and if they do, we are not in as good a position to defend ourselves as before. Dell, you are well enough to set up a sentry, yes?" Spy said. Dell nodded. "Good. I will look for Scout tomorrow to see if I can find out if he lived. Tonight, I recommend we all get some rest."

"Good idea. Y'all need me, just holler, alright?" Dell said, standing. There was no response and the engineer shrugged, walking out of the room. Spy remained a moment longer before leaving and heading for his own room.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 31 August 2076  
**

Scout sat in the chair of his cell, his head pounding. In hindsight, hitting on the woman with the guns may have been a bad idea. He supposed he was lucky she didn't shoot him. But now, he sat in the middle of this white, empty room. The only features were the chair he sat in and the table it was located by, as well as a camera in the corner hanging from the roof and a second chair on the other side of the table. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to ignore the pain in his temple. He looked at the wall by the white door and saw just the mirror that hung on that wall.

"Hey, anybody out there? My head's hurtin' like a son of a bitch, anybody listening?" He called. There was no response. He sighed and sat up. "Yo, fellas? Anybody around? I am bored, in pain and have no idea where I am, somebody come in and help solve my problems!" He continued yelling randomly for half an hour before the door was thrown open. A soldier walked in, carrying a bag of ice in one hand. He threw the bag on the table.

"There's some ice for your head, now shut the fuck up." The man snarled. Scout raised his hands defensively.

"Was just trying to get some service in here." Scout said. The man glared at him and Scout grabbed the bag of ice, resting it against his temple and sighing with relief as it eased the pain.

"Thanks, pal." He said. The soldier turned and leaved, muttering something angrily under his breath as he slammed the door. He began tapping his feet against the floor repeatedly for lack of anything better to do. Ten minutes later, the door suddenly opened again, with less force. He looked at the door and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with grey hair walking in. The man had his hair cut very short and it was slicked back. Grey eyes peered out from his rectangular glasses with black frames and he carried a cane. His cheeks were sharp and well-defined, his chin strong and jutting out and his nose narrow and hook-shaped. It looked as if it had been broken a few times in the past. Behind him, Tracer walked in and behind her a tall, blonde-woman with her long hair back in a pony-tail. This new woman wore a trench-coat, black leggings and knee-high boots. Her blue eyes sparkled as she regarded him coldly, tapping the holographic screen on the tablet she carried.

"Hey, lookie here, I ain't been forgotten. How's it goin', Tracer, was it?" Scout said. Tracer frowned.

"When did I tell you my name?" She asked.

"You didn't, I woke up on the way back and heard one of your boys saying it. Then you hit me again. I appreciate that, sweetheart." Scout said.

"Oh." Tracer said. Scout grinned and looked at the second woman.

"And who are you? Lookin' fine, I must say. Nice coat, where did you get it?" Scout said. The man sighed as he sat in the other chair.

"If you've quite finished hitting on my underlings, I have a few questions for you. Peters, make sure you're recording this." The man said. The blonde woman nodded and began tapping the screen.

"Ah, no can do, pal. I doubt I'd have any answers for you." Scout said.

"You may be wrong, friend. Let's start with something simple. How about a name?" The man asked.

"Fairly certain I introduced myself to the beautiful lady with the weird machine thing on her tits. She hasn't told you my name?" Scout asked.

"Let's just pretend she hasn't." The man said. Scout grinned as he saw Tracer going red at the mention of her breasts.

"Alright, I'll bite. The name's Scout. And you, limey?" Scout said.

"My name is Charles." He replied.

"Charles, swanky. Think I mugged a guy with that name once. I'ma call you Chuck." Scout said.

"And I'll have that ice taken away." Charles said. Scout shrugged.

"Charles it is. What else did you wanna know, bro?" Scout asked.

"I have a few things in mind. First of all, I want you to tell me if you work for or have ever heard of an organization known as Talon." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"Talon, what the heck is that? I ain't heard of them, no." Scout said. Charles chuckled.

"Of course, if you were with them, you would be unlikely to admit it." Charles mused.

"Oh, I'm more than happy to tell you who I work for, I just don't know if they still exist." Scout said. Charles said nothing, frowning and scratching his chin.

"What?" Tracer inquired.

"Never you mind, toots. So, Chucky boy, you got more questions?" Scout said.

"Remember the ice, Scout. And yes. You reportedly asked Tracer what year it was before your capture. Why did you do this?" He asked. Scout laughed and leaned back in his chair, slipping his free hand into his pocket.

"Pal, you would not believe me if I told you." Scout said.

"I've seen quite a lot of unbelievable stuff in my time." Charles said. "Try me."

"Oh, you ain't heard or seen nothin' on this." Scout said. Charles' expression hardened.

"I'd prefer to remain civil here, but do not forget that you are my prisoner, Scout. If you want, this friendly chat can become a great deal less friendly." Charles said.

"And we'd get a similar result if I tell you why I asked the year." Scout said, grinning. Charles tapped his cane on the ground repeatedly, remaining silent for a moment and sizing Scout up.

"You have my word that I won't resort to more violent means of interrogation if you answer." Charles finally said after a minute. Scout shrugged.

"Fine, fine. Alright, here's how it is. I'm not from this time, I was born in 1948 and joined a group of mercenaries working for Redmond Mann and fighting against mercenaries working for Blutarch Mann for four years. A few days ago, our engineer decided to do some experiments on his teleporter and he thought the best way to see where it went was to send us all through it. And now here I am." Scout said. He smiled as all three of them stared at him.

"Sorry... What?" Charles asked, leaning forward in his seat and touching his ear lightly with his left hand.

"Told you you wouldn't believe me." Scout said. They looked at him in silence for several minutes. Finally, Charles stood up.

"If you'll excuse me, I'd like to... Discuss this with these two. Peters, stop recording." Charles said. Peters nodded and tapped the screen again. Without another word, Tracer, Charles and Peters filed out of the room and closed the door behind them. Scout chuckled and began whistling.

* * *

Charles, Sarah and Tracer stood outside the cell in silence. Charles looked through the window at Scout and frowned.

"So, sir do you..." Sarah began before trailing off.

"Believe him? No, absolutely not. You?" Charles said. Sarah nodded. After a moment, Tracer shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

"I do." She said. Charles frowned.

"You believe him, Miss Oxton? Why?" He asked.

"Well, it doesn't sound as far fetched to me as it does to you, I suppose." She said feebly. Charles frowned.

"Oh, come on, you can't actually believe a teleportation device malfunctioned and sent him forward in... Time... Oh." Charles said, comprehension dawning across his face. "But... There's no way they had teleportation technology back in what, the 60s?" Charles said uncertainly.

"They did, actually. In Australia, before the Australium reserves ran out in 2018, they were more advanced than the rest of the world. They even had teleportation tech, I reckon that engineer of his might have got his hands on some of it." Tracer said.

"But... If it's true, how come there's nothing wrong with him? No Chronal Dissociation, nothing. And how could it have sent him forward in time a hundred years, the _Slipstream_ only sent you a few months into the future!" Charles said. Tracer shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not a scientist, love. All I know is that the _Slipstream_ didn't use identical tech to the old teleporters because nobody knows how those worked, the technology was lost not long after the Australium ran dry. The _Slipstream_ was based off of it, sure, but only notes that were recovered, it was pretty much entirely new tech. Maybe this old one works differently. The point is, his story makes sense to me." Tracer said. Charles took a deep breath.

"Well, I'm not inclined to believe it right away. We'll run it by the base scientists and engineers, see if they think it's credible. But for now, let's go back in." Charles said.

* * *

 **Sully's Roadhouse, 31 August 2076**

Spy frowned as he walked back into the infirmary. Soldier and Sniper were still there and Medic was currently reading a newspaper. Soldier was still unconscious and Sniper was lying still with his left arm in a sling, scowling.

"Medic, why can't you just use your medigun to fix them?" Spy asked. Medic turned a page in the newspaper and looked up.

"It only fixes superficial damage and fresh injuries, by the time I got to Sniper here it was too late to simply fix his arm with it. And besides, the medigun has been malfunctioning, so Herr Conagher is having a look at it right now. Until it is fixed I must use traditional methods." Medic said. Spy wondered where Medic had even gotten all of these bandages and drugs, but he decided against asking.

"I came here for another reason. When I am finished here, I will head out and search for Scout. If another attack occurs when I am away, nobody is to leave the building, it is safer to hold position and let the sentry do the work for us." Spy said.

"Well, these two are not going anywhere soon and I must stay with them, so that's no problem." Medic said.

"Good. I just wanted to make things clear." Spy said. He turned and left the room.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 31 August 2076  
**

Scout grinned as the interrogators returned. Charles once more sat on the chair opposite from Scout while Tracer and Peters stood in the corners of the room, the latter tapping the screen of her tablet.

"So, Scout. I'll ask this right now, why did you attack my men in the first place? There was no need for hostilities, yet your people killed three of my soldiers." Charles asked.

"I had nothin' to do with it, buddy. One of my team, Spy, he said that when he and Sniper saw your boys they were planning on leaving them be before Soldier ran in guns blazing." Scout said. Charles frowned.

"You refer to your comrades as Spy, Sniper, Soldier. Don't they have names?" Charles asked.

"Oh, I'm sure they do, I just never bothered to learn 'em." Scout said. Charles scratched his head as he absorbed this.

"How long have you known them?" He inquired.

"Oh, let's see... About four years before we came to this year. Why?" Scout said.

"Four years and you never bothered to learn their names? And come to think of it, Scout's a rather unusual name, why do you go by that?" Charles said.

"I have seven older brothers, pal. The oldest isn't even ten years older than me. My mom never bothered naming me, so when my talent for running ahead of people to get to the fight sooner was discovered, my brothers started calling me Scout." He replied.

"That's... Interesting. Back on topic, Scout, you say that this man, Soldier, ran in guns blazing. If that's the case, why did your comrades try and fight us off when we came rather than try explaining the situation?" Charles said. Scout considered this for a moment and then shrugged.

"Hell if I know. Me and the Demoman were out searching for something when it went down." Scout said.

"Demoman... Who's he?" Charles asked.

"He's the black Scottish cyclops who blows shit up." Scout said. Charles looked thoroughly confused and Scout chuckled.

"Black Scottish... Tracer, did you encounter anybody matching that description when you fought them?" Charles said, turning his head. She nodded.

"Yeah, but only for a moment. We were legging it at that point." She said.

"Interesting. I assume the cyclops part is pure hyperbole?" Charles asked.

"Well, he had an eyepatch, I'd guess that's what he's saying." Tracer mused.

"Yeah, uh, 'he' is sitting right here, fellas. Yeah, he's not an actual cyclops, what are you, retarded?" Scout interjected. Charles glared at him.

"This coming from the man who took on four enemy soldiers at once with just a baseball bat before proceeding to hit on one of them." Charles said.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad!" Scout complained.

"It totally was, he's lying through his teeth, Sir." Tracer said, giggling.

"Yeah, piss off, sugar tits." Scout grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. Charles rapped his cane on the side of his chair repeatedly in an attempt to restore order.

"I would remind you, Scout, that you are our prisoner under interrogation. We've been civil so far but I'd advise you curb that attitude or we can be a great deal less civil." Charles said sternly.

"Fine, fine. What else do you want?" Scout said.

"I'd like you to tell us a little bit about your comrades. How many there are, their strengths, their weaknesses." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"You want me to tell you this why? So you can kill 'em easier next time you attack the Roadhouse?" Scout said.

"If need be, yes. Though I'd prefer to find some kind of diplomatic solution, killing all of your team would likely cost me a lot of men." Charles said. Scout remained silent for several minutes.

"So, about answering that question..." Charles prompted finally.

"Eat shit." Scout said.

"I beg your pardon?" Charles said indignantly.

"I ain't telling you how to kill my buddies, even if they're all insane assholes." Scout said. Charles was speechless and Scout gave a forced half smile. "What, you expected me to tell you that?" Charles cleared his throat.

"Well, you've been quite cooperative so far, so yes, I expected that." Charles said.

"Yeah, that's because you weren't asking easy ways to kill people I spent four years of my life with. Go eat a bag of dicks, you limey cocksucker." Scout said. Charles was taken aback and stood.

"Scout, I already said I'll try and figure out a diplomatic solution! I only need this information in case things turn violent so I can minimize the lives lost." Charles said.

"Except it won't be minimizing shit if my buddies win, will it?" Scout said, smirking. "So, you wanna ask again?" At this, Charles scowled and turned around.

"We're done for today. Come on, Peters, Oxton. Scout, I'll see you tomorrow. I'd advise you be more cooperative or else you may find your stay here to be rather unpleasant." Charles said.

"Keep on yappin', pal." Scout replied. Charles stormed out as fast as his limp would allow him and Peters left. Tracer remained a moment longer, looking briefly at Scout.

"Mate, please just answer the question when we come back tomorrow. It'll make things easier for everybody." She begged.

"I'm sure it will. Hey, your boss is really shit at dealing with rejection, ask for me if he's ever tried to get a girlfriend and then ask how it went." Scout said. Tracer said nothing and left the room, closing the door behind her. Scout sat for a moment, not saying anything.

"Hey, can I get a beer or something?" He yelled. His response was silence. He shrugged and covered his face with his cap, lying back in his chair and adjusting into a more comfortable position as he closed his eyes.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, all. Apologies for the shortness of this chapter, there was nothing left for me to write that wasn't planned for the next chapter and I'd rather not have the next chapter be too short. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all in two weeks with another chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sully's Roadhouse, 1 September 2076**

Spy lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he leaned against the wall and looked out at the forest. His search for Scout had yielded no better results than any of the previous searches for Pyro. Medic was probably right, Scout was probably dead. This did not concern Spy terribly much beyond the simple fact that they were now short on manpower in the event of another attack. However, Spy did not expect another attack any time soon, as few would be willing to throw away lives so soon after losing half a dozen men. As he pondered, he gazed deeply into the trees. As he looked, his attention was suddenly drawn by a hint of movement and a flash of blue. He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. He reached into his suit jacket and his fingers closed around the familiar grip of his revolver. Nothing was in view, but he trusted his eyes. Slowly drawing his pistol, he pointed it at the trees.

"Who is there?" He called. There was no response. Then, suddenly, he saw more movement and pale blue for less than a moment. "Show yourself!" He demanded. "Show yourself or I will shoot!" There was a moment of silence.

"Don't shoot!" A feminine voice with a thick accent called. Spy frowned. The accent sounded French. Moments later, a woman stepped from the trees. Blue skin, purple hair and a purple jumpsuit with a neckline that dropped sharply to expose part of her breasts. The outfit showed off her curvy figure and Spy could not help but admire it in spite of himself. Some strange device was on her forehead. Resting on her shoulder, she carried a sniper rifle. Spy trained his gun between her eyes.

"Who are you and what is your business here, mademoiselle?" Spy called.

"My name is Amélie Lacroix. I represent an organization that has noticed you and your comrades. They wish to... Help you." She responded.

"How does this organization know about us?" Spy asked cautiously.

"You've made quite a lot of noise in your fights with Overwatch. My organization is called Talon and we are no friends of these criminals. My superiors believe we can... Work together." She replied.

"Is that so? Very well, Amélie." He said, putting his pistol back in his suit jacket and approaching her. He bowed, took her hand and kissed it, looking up at her. She gave a soft smirk and he smiled as he rose to his full height.

"My apologies for aiming a weapon at you, everybody we have encountered so far has been trying to kill us." Spy explained.

"Quite understandable. Please, introduce me to your colleagues." She said. Spy did not for a moment think to question just how she knew anything about them, though he assumed that perhaps this Talon group had been observing with advanced technology he could not comprehend yet, having only been in the current year for a week.

"Of course. Come, they are inside." Spy said. He offered his arm and after a moment of hesitation, she took it.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 1 September 2076  
**

Scout looked up as the door to his cell opened. Charles walked in, carrying a file under his arm.

"Hey, Chucky boy, you're back! Still want me to stab my buddies in the back?" Scout said.

"That won't be necessary, no." Charles said as he took a seat. A moment later, Tracer and the blonde woman who Charles called Peters walked in. "We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I'd like you to cooperate, Scout. I want to avoid further conflict with your colleagues if possible." Charles said.

"Uh huh, sure you do, pal. What's in the file there?" Scout said. Charles slapped the file onto the table and slid it over to Scout. Scout read the label on it. All it said was miscellaneous.

"You say you're from the past, yes? My scientists have yet to verify this story of yours and I still don't believe it, but if it is true, surely you'd like to know what's happened in the hundred years you missed, yes? That file contains some of that information. Call it.. Incentive, if you will. I don't know if it'll be possible to send you back to the past, I doubt it. Keep that file, read up on the history of the last century, so you're not entirely illiterate about the 21st century. You seem like the type of person who'd want to know this sort of thing." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"Yeah, I suppose I would like to learn a little... You said it's incentive. What for?" Scout asked.

"Your cooperation. I'll ask you some more questions, some about your colleagues. Perhaps not how to kill them. Who we could contact to negotiate some sort of truce, perhaps. You answer my questions, I'll provide you with more information." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"You want me to be your best bud after asking me to betray my friends for some information about stuff I could easily learn if I ever got out of here?" Scout asked.

"I'll throw in a date with Tracer." Charles said, his face completely deadpan. Tracer looked quite indignant.

"Hey!" She complained. "You can't just-" She began.

"Done." Scout said. "What did you want to know?"

"Sir, you can't just... Set me up with this guy, just for a little info!" Tracer said.

"Miss Oxton?" Charles said.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"Shut up. Now, Scout, tell me. If I wanted to go to that roadhouse under a... Flag of truce, let's say. Who would I ask to speak to? Who would be the most willing to negotiate, who's the most reasonable of your team?" Charles asked. Scout pondered for a moment.

"Well... I don't know, probably Spy. Spy or Engi. Whatever you do, don't try anything if Soldier is outside. He's fuckin' insane and he will shoot your boys on sight." Scout said. Charles nodded.

"Thank you for that warning, Scout. Might I inquire as to a description of Soldier?" Charles asked.

"He's a big guy, wears a helmet and a trench-coat, got a bunch of grenades and he has a shotgun and a rocket launcher." Scout said.

"Is there anybody else we should be wary of approaching?" He said.

"Uh... Probably Demo, he's the black guy with one eye. Sniper might not be great either, he's the one who wears one of those... Hey, sugar tits, what's the name of those hats that soldiers wear in Australia?" Scout said. Tracer looked at Peters.

"He means you." Peters said, chuckling.

"I don't know." Tracer said.

"Come on, sure ya do. Wide brim, kind floppy, you know the ones?" Scout asked.

"A slouch hat. I take it he's from Australia?" Charles said. Scout nodded.

"Yeah. If he spots your boys he will shoot them." Scout said.

"I don't think we'll need to worry about him. I threw him out of a window." Tracer said proudly.

"Uh huh. And then there's..." He trailed off and frowned. Then, he rose to his feet rapidly and pointed a finger at Charles accusingly. "Hang on a fucking minute! You're just tricking me into telling you about all my guys so you can better kill them, but you're making it sound different!" Scout declared. Charles did not flinch and looked up.

"Guilty as charged, if only you'd worded it a little better. Perhaps the sting of this latest treachery will spur you to be more attentive in future." Charles said calmly.

"Uh... What?" Scout said.

"Stop thinking with your dick. Yes, Oxton and Peters are attractive. But do try a little harder. If you'll forgive the pun." Charles responded. Scout now felt positively confused.

"Alright... So, fuck you, I think." Scout said.

"You are a true master of the English language and its finer points. If basic sentence structure is not beyond your mental capabilities, I would like to ask you some more questions." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"Uh, sure..." Scout said. Tracer giggled. "Hey, don't laugh, sweetheart. I have been promised a date, you will deliver."

"Scout, please." Charles said. "Pay attention to me. Now, tell me. That roadhouse your colleagues are located at, is there anything in there that we can use to contact them? A phone, anything that's in working order?"

"There's a phone, yeah, but it doesn't work. The place has been abandoned for thirty or so years. Say, what's an Omnic?" Scout asked. Charles frowned, then realization dawned on his face.

"They didn't have those in the 20th century, no... It's a robot. A machine. Sentient, with an artificial intelligence. Thirty years ago they rebelled, there was a war. Some of the information is in that file." Charles said. A moment later, a siren rang. Scout flinched.

"What's that, an attack or something? A fire?" Scout asked. Charles frowned and checked his watch.

"That is lunch. Peters, Oxton." Charles said, rising to his feet with a pained grunt before leaning on his cane. Scout's stomach growled.

"Oh, uh... I haven't actually eaten since yesterday morning. So..." He trailed off.

"I'll have something sent in. I don't have any more questions at the present moment, Scout. I'll see you whenever I have more." Charles responded.

"Thanks, I guess." Scout said. As the three walked out, he opened the file, pulled out a slip of paper and began to read it.

* * *

 **Sully's Roadhouse  
**

Sniper sat on a chair in the main room of the roadhouse, frowning as he examined the woman Spy had just brought in. The rest of the team gathered around, ogling her as well. There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Sniper decided to break the silence.

"Spy, who the fuck is this?" He finally said.

"Her name is Amélie. She says she can help us." Spy explained.

"She looks like a blue-skinned hooker." Demo said. "I think I saw one of those. It was thirty minutes after the first time I ever got drunk."

"Would that be when you were seven?" Spy snapped. "Show some respect."

"Spy, do we not have a policy of shoot anything that moves while we figure out what the fuck is going on?" Sniper asked.

"She can help us figure out what is going on. Now, please, let her speak." Spy said.

"Thank you." Amélie said, smiling sweetly. It made Sniper feel uneasy and he did not doubt for a second that this woman would kill them all without a moment's hesitation. "The people you have come into conflict with are a part of a criminal organization called Overwatch. I represent an organization called Talon which wishes to see them pay for their crimes."

"And what has this got to do with us?" Dell inquired, beginning to play a slow tune on his guitar.

"Aside from the fact that they have tried to kill you and currently hold one of your colleagues prisoner? They possess information that can send you back to the year you came from." She replied.

"Now, this is quite a lot to take in." Medic said. "You mean to say that Scout is alive? And they can send us back to the past? And how did you know we are not from the present?"

"Talon has kept a close eye on you since you arrived in the present. I cannot say much, but rest assured we are well aware of your time travel. We want to help you, to send you back to the year you came from. But only Overwatch knows how. And yes, your friend is alive. He was captured during your little firefight. Now, I have been tasked with infiltrating an Overwatch facility and acquiring other information that they have stored there, but it's too heavily defended for me to get through on my own. So, we can help each-other. You help me fight my way through this facility, I direct you to it and we gather this intelligence." She explained.

"So we need to kill everybody and take a briefcase!" Soldier chimed in. Amélie paused, frowning. Sniper would have laughed if it didn't cause physical pain to do so.

"Yes. Kill everybody in that facility and steal their briefcase, you can go back to the 20th century and I can bring down these criminals. What do you all say?" She asked.

"I think it sounds like a splendid idea." Spy said. "We can rescue Scout while we are at it."

"I concur, this idea is a marvelous one." Medic said.

"Y'all can count me in, if it means I can get back to my workshop." Dell said.

"I will gladly kill people and take a briefcase!" Soldier declared.

"Is good plan. Back to the past means we are paid, meaning Sasha can be treated properly." Heavy said.

"If you're all in, I'll take part in blowin' stuff up." Demo said.

"What about you, Sniper?" Spy asked. Sniper frowned.

"Mate, my arm's broken and it hurts to breathe. Sure, I'll fucking go. I want it on record that I reckon you're thinking with your dick more than Scout does." Sniper said.

"Noted. It is settled, mademoiselle. We shall help you. I suggest we retire to my bedroom to discuss plans." Spy said smoothly. She gave a soft chuckle.

"Very well. Au Revoir." She said to the rest. Spy offered his hand and she took it, the two walking over to the stairs before disappearing up them. There was a long, uninterrupted silence before Sniper decided to speak.

"I swear, if those two are fucking..." He muttered. Demo, Dell and Soldier sniggered.

"As long as they are also working on a plan for this little fight, I take no issue." Medic said. "Auf wiedersehen." He rose to his feet and strode to the stairs.

"Demoman! I challenge you to a game of pool!" Soldier yelled suddenly. Sniper rolled his eyes, wishing he had the function of both arms so he could slap Soldier and Demo simultaneously.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion  
**

Charles sat in the command center before the holographic screen as he connected to Winston in Watchpoint: Gibraltar. After a moment, the screen cleared and the face of the gorilla came into view.

"Hello, Charles. How did Tracer fare?" Winston asked. The scientist was tinkering with something off-screen. From the occasional flashes of light, it seemed to be dangerous.

"She performed adequately. She and my soldiers captured one of the people. I've questioned him a little. Tell me, do you think it's possible for teleportation technology to malfunction and send a group of people a hundred years into the future?" Charles asked. Winston adjusted his glasses and pondered for a moment.

"Well... There's been no such incidents that I am aware of, though as you know Tracer was sent forward in time by the _Slipstream_ , so yes, with advanced enough technology, I suppose it is theoretically possible. But such powerful teleportation devices haven't existed since before the Australium reserves ran out." Winston said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well that is curious..." Charles murmured. "The man we captured, he claims that he and his comrades come from a hundred years ago. Apparently, their teleporter malfunctioned and sent them forward to the present day." Winston frowned and put aside whatever he was tinkering with.

"Curious indeed. It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility, though I wouldn't take his word for it. Has he said anything else that might lend some credibility to his story?" Winston asked.

"A little. He reportedly asked Tracer the year shortly before his capture and he did not know what an Omnic is. If he's telling the truth, it would explain those energy spikes from a few days ago." Charles mused.

"You're quite right, it would. I'd say don't dismiss the possibility just yet, but take his word with a grain of salt at best. Do a little bit of research before you speak with him next, investigate his story. See if anybody went missing under his description a hundred years ago, that sort of thing." Winston instructed. Charles nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Tracer alone was not adequate to deal with all of the enemies. She was injured and likely didn't kill anybody, though she caused a few injuries. I may need another special operative." Charles said. Winston frowned.

"You understand, of course, that our resources are stretched quite thinly. Only a few hundred agents answered the call. Less than a tenth of Overwatch at its peak." Winston explained.

"I'm well aware. But I've lost six men already to these people. I'd prefer to resolve things diplomatically, but if it comes to violence again, I don't want to lose anybody else." Charles replied.

"Fair enough. Well..." Winston said. He reached for something off-screen and began tapping something repeatedly. After a moment, he looked up. "It just so happens one more special agent is in your area. He's been investigating a string of arson attacks in the Marion area which have occurred in the past week, but when that's been resolved he'd be more than happy to join you." He said.

"Thank you, Winston. Might I be so bold as to inquire as to which operative it is this time?" Charles asked. Winston chuckled.

"Of course. Jesse McCree. A former member of Blackwatch." Winston said. Charles did not know this name and it showed on his face. "I'll transfer his file over to your database." He said.

"Thank you. Looks like I have lots of homework to do." Charles said. Winston smiled.

"That you do. Goodbye, Sir Charles." Winston said. The screen vanished.

* * *

Scout sat in his cell, patting his belly after just having finished his meal. It was quite delicious and he felt filled up. Suddenly, the door opened and he flinched, not expecting it. This time, Charles was not there. It was just Tracer.

"Oh, hey there. What's cookin', good lookin'?" Scout said. Her face went red and she scowled. She walked over to the chair opposite him and sat down. There was a long, awkward silence. "So, why'd you come here?" Scout finally asked.

"How was the food?" She replied.

"Pretty good, yeah. My compliments to the chef." Scout said.

"That's good, Giovanni will be pleased. According to Sarah, he's always complaining about not having enough ingredients to work with." Tracer said.

"Who's Sarah?" Scout asked. Tracer frowned.

"The blonde woman with the trench-coat." She said.

"Oh, her. I thought her name was Peters." He replied.

"That's her last name. Charles doesn't call anybody here by their first name." Tracer explained.

"Oh, I see. So Oxton ain't your name? Is Tracer your real name?" He asked. She giggled.

"No, it's my call sign. My name is Lena." She replied.

"Uh huh, nice name. So, why did you come here?" He said.

"Well, since I've been conscripted into a date..." She said. "I thought I might as well get to know you a little." At this, Scout laughed.

"Oh, Scout does it again!" He declared. "And Spy said I'm terrible with girls..." He sniggered.

"Hey, shut up. I didn't ask for it, Charles just threw the offer your way for information!" Tracer complained.

"Yeah, you could've refused. Instead you're trying to got to know me. I call that a win in my book." Scout responded.

"Piss off." Tracer grumbled. "I can't refuse something my commander orders me to do, love." She added.

"Ah, of course you can. I do it all the time." He said. "So anyways, what would you like to know, sweetheart?"

"Well, I don't know. You seem to like the sound of your own voice, I figured I'd just get you talking and listen to whatever you spewed out." She said. He grinned.

"Well, you're damn right, I do like the sound of my own voice. It's a great voice. So, where do I begin?" He asked.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, mate. How about your job? What exactly did you do for a living?" She said.

"I thought I said when your boss was questioning me yesterday. I'm a mercenary." Scout replied, frowning.

"Right, sorry. You've said a lot of other stuff too, so..." She trailed off.

"Yeah, well, that's what I do for a living. I coulda joined the army, you know, get some discipline while I fight people. But that didn't sound like much fun so I became a merc instead. I tell ya, the amount of times I've beaten the skull of a BLU team mercenary in, it's awesome." He said. She frowned.

"Do you just beat people's heads in, is that what you do for enjoyment?" She asked, a hint of disgust in her tone.

"Well, no. I relieve people of their kneecaps from time to time, I shoot pool with Sniper, I tell Spy to go to Hell. I do lots of things. Stealing, for example. That's lots of fun." Scout replied. She furrowed her brow.

"So you're a criminal." She said.

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds worse than it is." He complained.

"You beat people up and take their stuff, basically?" She asked.

"Yeah." Scout responded.

"Then you're a criminal, it's as bad as it sounds." Tracer said. He scowled.

"Hey, listen here, sugar tits. I was born in Boston, 1948. I grew up in the 50s and 60s. Y'know what Boston was in the 50s and 60s? A shithole, that's what. Irish and Italian gangs runnin' the place, corrupt police, the works. My mom had her first kid when she was 15. She had me less than ten years later. Y'know how much money you need to support eight kids? More than my mom made in her shitty day job. I didn't start breaking the law because it was fun, that was just a bonus. My brothers and I did it because we had to. And I was the runt of the litter, I could never get into any of the fights because my brothers had won 'em by the time I got there. So I started running a lot. Turns out I can run really fast and after a while, I was the first into the fights. When I became a mercenary, you know where half the money I made went?" Scout said. Tracer now looked incredibly guilty and uneasy.

"To your mother?" She asked.

"To my mother, you're damn right. Don't be so quick to judge the way other people make their money when you grew up better than them." He said. Then, a moment later, he burst out laughing. "Oh, I actually did it! I got through all of that with a straight face! Then I fucked it up!" He said, laughing. She stared at him in silence, confused.

"What?" She said. He wiped his eyes and continued laughing as he tried to speak.

"Oh, jeez..." He said, giggling to himself. Finally, he managed to stop laughing. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't give a shit what you think about my line of work, my reasons are my reasons." Then, all of a sudden, his expression darkened as realization dawned upon him. He sat there in silence, staring at his hands.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"I just realized something... My mom, my brothers... They'd all be dead by now." Scout said. Tears welled up in his eyes but he fought back and blinked them out of his eyes.

"Oh... Scout, I'm sorry..." Tracer said, reaching over the table and resting her hand on his. He pushed it away and looked at her, forcing a smile.

"Ah, I'm fine. There's uh... Probably some way to go back to '71..." He muttered. She looked at him, concern written all over her face.

"It's okay to cry, if you want." She offered, giving him a soft smile.

"Fuck off." Scout replied. Then, a moment later, he felt the tears welling up in his eyes again. "Actually... Gimme a minute." He said as tears began to stream down his face. He looked down, burying his face in his hands to spare himself the embarrassment of breaking down in front of a woman he wished to sleep with. He sat there for several minutes silently crying before finally, he dried his eyes and looked back up at Tracer.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Never been better. Say, do you guys keep any alcohol in this place?" Scout replied.

"Um... No." Tracer replied.

"Pity. Well, you can run along, I am gonna have a nap. Tell that chef of yours that he's great." Scout said. Tracer slowly stood.

"I can stay, if you want." She offered.

"No, I'm good. I just need to sleep." He replied.

"Alright. Well, goodbye." She said.

"Bye bye, see ya." He said as she walked to the door. She gave him one last look as she opened it and he waved. She left and closed the door. He waited a moment, then leaned back and took a deep breath.

"Christ, that went well..." He muttered, shutting his eyes and covering his face with his cap.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sully's Roadhouse, 2 September 2076, 9:00 AM**

Sniper sat at the table and watched as the rest of the team prepared themselves, loading guns and making sure they were in working order. Soldier had finally managed to acquire some rockets for his rocket launcher after Dell had built a dispenser the day before and he seemed to be quite pleased. Sniper, on the other hand, had not bothered preparing his own guns. With a broken army, he could not use his sniper rifle or his SMG and instead he had opted to make use of the pistol that Scout had left behind. Medic approached him and frowned.

"Herr Mundy, I am not entirely sure you should be joining us." Medic said. Sniper raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that, mate?" He asked.

"Your arm, it is broken. You would be at a disadvantage and may slow us down." Medic said. Sniper scowled.

"You ain't leaving me behind. We're already down two members, Scout's captured and Pyro is missing, remember? I don't think we can afford to be going in with just six of us." Sniper said.

"Yes, well, Frau Lacroix is going to be accompanying us. Not only that, she is a sniper. We should be fine." Sniper's eyes flashed with anger and he rose to his feet.

"You are NOT replacing me with that blue-skinned bitch. Where is she, anyway?" Sniper demanded. Soldier looked over at them.

"Yes, where is the alien?" Soldier said. Every pair of eyes in the room fell on him.

"What?" Spy said. "Alien?"

"Yes. She is blue-skinned and possesses a body that no real human woman could maintain. She must be an alien!" Soldier declared. "Plus, she's got that fancy mask thing with all the red lights, all the signs of an alien!"

"Body... Mask, alien..." Spy said, rubbing his forehead with his palm. _"What?"_ He asked. As he said this, he reached into his suit jacket for a cigarette.

"I think we should just roll with it, Spy." Sniper said. Spy nodded wearily.

"Yes, that would be best. As for where she is, she is currently bringing her car to us. She didn't just walk all the way here, you know." Spy explained.

"Alien car! I bet it hovers!" Soldier said. Sniper and Spy simultaneously scowled and glared at Soldier.

"How do you know so much about her, anyway?" Sniper asked.

"I made her acquaintance last night, she told me quite a bit." Spy said. Sniper raised his eyebrow.

"So you fucked her. That'd explain the noises I heard." Sniper said, prompting a sour look from Spy. As he said this, a whooshing sound was heard from outside the roadhouse and moments later, the sound of a car door slamming was audible. Soon, the door swung open to reveal the voluptuous form of Amélie Lacroix. Sniper narrowed his eyes and looked past her. As Soldier had predicted, the black van did not have wheels and hovered a foot above the ground.

"Well, I'll be damned." Dell said. "Soldier was right."

"She's an alien, she has a hover car just like an alien would!" Soldier declared, pointing at Amélie. Spy lit up his cigarette and took a painfully long drag as Amélie stared at Soldier in confusion.

"My apologies, mademoiselle." Spy said as he let out an enormous puff of smoke. "Soldier has a few screws loose."

"Which screws are loose? Engineer, why did you not tell me, you need to tighten them! Are they on your sentry gun?" Soldier said.

"He means... Ah, fuck it." Demo interjected. "Let's go, laddies." As he said this, everybody who was not already standing rose to their feet. Amélie looked around.

"Is everybody ready?" She asked. They all nodded. "Good. Follow me." She turned around, revealing the spider tatoo on her back. Sniper wondered for a moment how her jumpsuit was even remotely practical given how much it exposed. It was a wonder her breasts didn't fall out of that sharply dipping neckline. He pushed aside these thoughts as he joined his fellow mercenaries in following her to the van. She opened up the side door and nodded to them. Spy was the first one on, followed by Demo, Dell, Medic, Soldier and Heavy. Finally, Sniper stepped into the van with some difficulty as he could only use one hand to lift himself up into it. When he was sitting, Spy reached over and closed the door while Amélie entered the driver's seat.

"Buckle up, boys." She said in what Sniper felt to be far too sensual a tone for the context. He fastened his seat-belt as the others did the same and soon after, the vehicle took off.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 2 September 2076, 11:24 AM  
**

Tracer walked through the door into the command center and saw Charles sitting on his chair. Charles looked her way and nodded curtly.

"Ah, Miss Oxton. You got my message." He said. She nodded.

"What was it you wanted?" She asked.

"Come here. Peters, get up the footage." Charles said. Tracer glanced over at Sarah and saw her tapping the screen of her tablet furiously. Moments later, a large holographic screen appeared before Tracer as she walked over to stand by Charles.

"This was captured on one of our hidden cameras in the outskirts of the city." Charles said. Tracer looked at the screen as the footage began to play. A relatively boring street, two cars parked along it. Little was going on. Then, suddenly, a black van came into view and the footage paused.

"What's this?" Tracer asked, frowning.

"Good question. Peters, zoom in." Charles instructed. The camera zoomed in on the front window of the van and though it was tinted, though the footage was grainy, Tracer could make out a face in the driver's seat. It seemed oddly... Familiar.

"Who is she?" Tracer asked.

"Also a good question. It's hard to tell, the footage is of poor quality but Peters, if you will?" Charles said. Sarah nodded and tapped her tablet again. Suddenly, the footage cleared and Tracer could make out the face. Her eyes widened. "An old friend of yours, from what I hear."

"Widowmaker." Tracer said. "The murderer."

"That is precisely what she is. In town at the exact same time as our friends from the past." Charles said. Tracer frowned.

"You think it's connected?" She asked.

"I don't believe in coincidences and her appearance in the area so soon after the little scuffle with the mercenaries is too big of one to ignore. Not to mention that it's a big van, probably has room for all of Scout's friends. I think he was lying to us about not knowing about Talon." Charles said. Tracer frowned.

"But, how could he, if he's from the past?" She said.

"My hypothesis is that he isn't from the past. It's a story. We'll go and interrogate him n-" Charles began before Sarah interrupted him.

"Sir, the camera outside the downtown entrance just picked up this van. Putting it up on the screen now, this is live." Sarah said. The screen flickered and the footage was replaced with the van parking by a row of shops. The camera was in an alleyway and the side door of the van was directly adjacent to the entrance to this alley. It suddenly slid open and Tracer could see seven people sitting in the back of the van. Tracer recognized the man she had thrown out the window, the two men she had shot, the black man with an eyepatch and the large man with the minigun. Two of them, she did not recognize from the fight at the roadhouse, one who wore a white coat and another who wore a suit and a balaclava. They began filing out of the van one by one, into the alley as Widowmaker joined them. They began talking among themselves, but the camera did not pick up their words.

"Looks like I'm right. Tracer, that entrance puts them right above the holding cells. They're probably here for Scout. Get out there." Charles instructed. Tracer's eyes widened.

"Alone, sir?" Tracer said, her voice rising in pitch a little.

"I'm not expecting you to fight them all alone, no. Try and lure one or two of them away, maybe kill him and then come back. Try not to get yourself killed, the troops will hold the fort while you do what you can. Keep in radio contact. They don't look like they know the way in yet but they'll figure it out, get there before they do." Charles instructed. Tracer took a deep breath and nodded.

"Alright, I'll do what I can." She said, walking unsteadily out of the command center and heading for her destination.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion Downtown Entrance, 11:37 AM  
**

Tracer looked at the door before her. From this side, it appeared to be a normal door, from the other side where here enemies stood, she knew it would simply look like a brick wall. She was reluctant to go out, but she had little choice in the matter. Finally, she took a deep breath and tapped the keypad by the doors. They slid open and she stepped out into the alley, readying her pistols.

"It is the lady with the titty machine!" One of them yelled. He wore a helmet and a trench-coat and carried a rocket launcher. Soldier, Scout had called him. Eight guns leveled at her.

"Tracer." Widowmaker said with distaste. "How lovely to see you."

"Widowmaker, here to crash yet another party." Tracer said.

"Oui." Widowmaker replied, pulling the trigger on her rifle. But Tracer was already gone, Blinking to the roof of the van and sending two shots at the group as she went. One missed and the other grazed the shoulder of Soldier. He yelled in pain and whipped around, firing a rocket wildly. Tracer took a step aside as it flew past.

"Die, crazy teleporting lady!" Soldier yelled, running at her and aiming his rocket.

"Soldier, no!" The one called Sniper yelled. Tracer grinned, Blinking to the other side of the van. The side door on her side slid open a moment later to reveal the angry shape of Soldier pointing his rocket launcher at her face.

"Come and get me, love!" She yelled, Blinking away. Soldier yelled in anger and ran after her, seemingly deaf to the cries of his comrades. Bystanders screamed and scattered as Soldier fired more rockets her way. Each time, she rolled to the side or Blinked out of the path of the rockets, leading Soldier away from the rest of his team.

"Come back here!" Soldier yelled, firing a rocket at her. She jumped aside and it smashed into a car. The vehicle blossomed into a fireball which consumed the man inside it but Tracer did not have time to process this as the shockwave from the explosion threw her several meters away. She groaned in pain but leaped to her feet. She knew that if she stopped moving for too long, she was a dead woman and thus, she had to keep moving.

"Come on, mate! You can do better!" She yelled though her voice was a little shaky as she pictured the final moments of the man who had just been killed, the look of abject horror on his face as the flames consumed him.

"Rargh! Stand still!" Soldier bellowed, firing another rocket. She Blinked beside him and kicked him in the shin before Blinking away as he yelled in pain. She began sprinting down the street.

"Get away, run!" She yelled at the numerous civilians that still stood in the street, looking at the events unfolding before them in bewilderment. Rather than run in a zigzag pattern to make herself harder to hit, she ran straight through the crowd, forcing civilians aside and attempting to keep Soldier's attention on her. As another rocket was sent her way, the crowd scattered, screams filling the air. Tracer Blinked forward several meters and staggered from the shockwave of the explosion, yelling out in panic as her ears began ringing. She was fortunate enough that Soldier had emptied his rocket launcher, buying her time to recover as he reloaded.

"You are all weak! You are all bleeders!" Soldier yelled at the civilians as they scattered, running for Tracer and sending more rockets her way. She Blinked away, the rockets smashing into walls, sending bricks flying about. "Hooah!" He yelled as an empty car was blown apart by his rocket launcher.

"You're insane, mate!" Tracer yelled, Blinking above a car. Suddenly, her Chronal Accelarator crackled and powered down. "Bollocks!" She hissed, diving behind the car as a rocket flew overhead. She gritted her teeth as she waited for the rocket that she was sure would end her life. But it did not come, instead she heard Soldier yelling.

"Out of rockets again! Damn it!" Soldier yelled. She heard his rocket launcher clattering to the ground, footsteps pounding and he ran to the car she hid behind, running around it and pointing the shotgun he had produced seemingly out of nowhere at her. He pumped it and she rolled to the side as he pulled the trigger, the pellets punching holes in the ground as she moved.

"Go easy, mate!" She cried, scrambling to her feet. "Where did you even carry that thing, no fair!"

"If God wanted you to live, He would not have created _me_!" Soldier declared, pumping his shotgun and taking aim again. As he squeezed the trigger, she kicked the barrel upwards and pellets flew harmlessly into the air. Her heart pumped fast as she turned and sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her.

"You cannot run from me! My gun is faster!" Soldier yelled. Her Chronal Accelerator hummed as it came back to life and just as a spray of pellets was sent her way, she Blinked out of their path. She whipped around as he pumped his shotgun again and sent a torrent of pulse fire his way. Several shots burned through the clothing over his chest and he screamed in pain, staggering backwards and wildly firing. One pellet ripped through her hip and she screamed, stumbling backwards and falling on her rear as blood squirted out of the freshly opened hole in her left hip. Pain shot up through her but she gritted her teeth and activated her Recall ability. She was suddenly standing where she had been less than a second before being shot and Soldier growled as he stepped forward, leveling his shotgun at her, pumping it. She breathed heavily and Blinked next to him as he fired, smashing the butt of her pistol into the side of his head. Unfortunately, he wore a helmet and thus it had little effect, prompting him to jam the muzzle of his shotgun into her gut in anger. She gasped and sank to her knees as he pumped the shotgun and leveled it at her head.

"Any last words, twinkle-toes?" Soldier growled.

"Keep calm and Tracer on." She muttered, Blinking behind him and firing into his back. He yelled in pain and stumbled forward as he reflexively squeezed the trigger, shooting the ground as he crashed into it. He groaned as Tracer took a moment to catch her breath. "How much ammo does that gun even _have_? There's only one barrel!" She said.

"Damn you, woman! Less talk, more fight!" As he said this, he reached into a pouch he carried and pulled out several shotgun shells, jamming them into his gun.

"So you can store six shells in one barrel, huh? I do not even want to know how that's possible, love." Tracer said.

"Shut up!" Soldier yelled, firing at her. He was too slow, however, as by the time he had shot, she had Blinked out of the way and emptied her pistols in his general direction. She missed many shots but a handful hit him and he roared in pain. As she reloaded, she heard sirens the sounds of cars approaching. They both looked around in confusion and a moment later, three police cars pulled up by them in the ruined street. The doors opened and half a dozen officers filed out, aiming their pistols at Tracer and Soldier.

"Freeze! Hands up, put your weapons down or we will fire!" One of them yelled. Tracer took a step back and raised her hands in the air. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" The officer shrieked. Tracer glanced at Soldier, who was aiming his shotgun. But suddenly, there was a whooshing noise and an officer screamed in pain. Her head snapped around to find the source of the noise and saw that one of the officers was on fire, screeching in agony and terror. She looked around to find out what had caused it and several meters away from the police she saw a short man wearing a heat retardant suit. He carried in one hand a flamethrower and in the other hand, a flare gun, smoke rising into the air from the muzzle. The police whipped around but as they were about to fire, Soldier ran forward and emptied a shell into the back of one officer. The policemen frantically looked around, unsure of who to shoot. This moment of indecisiveness sealed their fate, the man in the heat retardant suit running forward and engulfing them and their cars in flame. Heat blasted Tracer as the cars exploded and she was thrown backwards, grunting in pain as she smashed into a wall. After a moment, her vision cleared and she saw the remaining officers performing a gruesome dance in the flames, screaming loudly as Soldier and this new threat stepped towards one another.

"Pyro! It is good to see you! Where have you been?" Soldier said. Pyro said something that was muffled behind his optical mask. Soldier threw back his head and laughed as Tracer unsteadily rose to her feet. She stumbled forward and retrieved her guns from the ground as the two turned to face her.

"Let's kill this lady and return to the others, yes, Pyro?" Soldier said. Pyro nodded and Tracer shivered despite the intense heat as fear crawled up her spine.

"Do I get a say in that, loves?" She called.

"You do not, titty machine lady!" Soldier declared, running at her. She wearily Blinked out of the path of the shotgun pellets that came her way and fired wildly. She did not hit either of them and decided to try and flee. She sprinted away as they followed her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that they had split up, Soldier slipping into an alley as Pyro relentlessly pursued her. As she ran down the street desperately, she fired a few shots occasionally over her shoulder but did not look to aim and she doubted that she had hit him. She turned a street corner and ran down, Pyro in hot pursuit. Then, ahead of her, she saw several police cars lined up on the street, a dozen officers waiting. She cursed and looked back. Pyro was still after her and she could not go back so before they could shoot her, she turned into a side street.

She ran down the street and as she reached the end she turned into an alley off to the side. As she ran, Soldier was there all of a sudden, brandishing a shovel and before she could react, it smashed into her face. Her vision blurred as her goggles were knocked off and she crashed into the ground. She felt blood running down her nose and from a cut on her eyebrow and as her vision slowly began to clear, panic gripped her as everything in the left half of her field of view was masked by a sudden veil of red. She breathed fast and groaned in pain as she lay on the ground. She was not sure if her nose had been broken by that hit but it certainly felt bad. She rolled onto her side and took a deep, rattling breath, glancing at Soldier as he proudly stood over her, grinning as Pyro stepped next to him, looking down at her menacingly.

"Check and mate, crazy teleporter lady!" Soldier said, resting his shovel on his shoulder. Tracer looked to the left; she could not see Pyro through the blood flowing into her eye otherwise. Terror gripped her heart as she lay there, waiting for what would come next.

"We did a good job, Pyro! You deserve a medal! Shall I finish her off, or do you want to?" Soldier asked. Pyro said something which was muffled and Soldier frowned. "I cannot understand you, son." At this, Pyro pointed the nozzle of his flamethrower at Tracer and Soldier nodded in understanding, stepping back. Tracer looked fearfully into the dark barrel, the small blue flame at the tip of it blurring as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Please..." She whimpered. Pyro cocked his head to the side and Tracer shut her eyes, waiting for the end. Then, suddenly, she opened her eyes when she heard something else.

"Hold it right there! Ain't becoming of a man to kill a woman when she's down, is it?" A deep voice said. Soldier and Pyro whipped around and Tracer followed their gaze. At the end of the alley stood a tall, broad-shouldered man. His mess of brown hair was partially concealed by the stetson hat he wore, his scruffy, poorly groomed beard framed his face and a cigar was in his mouth. A red poncho covered much of his armoured torso, his right hand was wrapped in a glove and the left hand was cybernetic. He wore a sign on his belt that read BAMF and below it on a second belt hung several bullets. A holster was at his side, with the handle of a revolver poking out of it.

"Who are you and why are you dressed as a cowboy?" Soldier demanded, slowly reaching for his shotgun as Pyro did the same for his flare gun. This new man glanced between them, waving his fingers slowly in the air over his gun.

"Well, fellas, this don't look like it's gonna be resolved too peacefully, how about you leave the lady be?" He said. They did not response and the man chuckled. "Well well, would ya look at the time..." He said, gazing at the sky as the sun shone high above, casting its gleaming rays into the otherwise dimly lit alley.

"It's High Noon..."

Quick as a flash, before Soldier and Pyro could ready their weapons, he snatched his pistol out of its holster and after less than a moment of aiming, he fired two shots from his hip. Pyro and Soldier both jerked backwards, blood spraying from the freshly created holes in their heads. Moments later, they crashed to the ground, twitching momentarily before lying still as Soldier's helmet came off his bald head, rolling away as a pool of blood collected around his head. Tracer slowly rose to her feet and the new man holstered his pistol, rushing forth and grabbing her by the shoulders, steadying her before she fell.

"Everything alright there, darlin'?" He said smoothly. "Looks like you've got blood in your eye, it's always scary when half your vision goes all red." He said.

"Sorry mate, I'm just a little shaken... Who are you?" Tracer asked. He stepped back.

"The name's McCree. Jesse McCree. I was supposed to join your boss over at the Watchpoint but I was investigating a string of arson attacks in the area at the time so I delayed. Three guesses as to who was behind those attacks." He said. Tracer glanced at the bodies by them and looked at Pyro for a moment.

"Him?" She asked.

"Yup. Been tracking him the last few days and I finally find him, he's setting fire to policemen and chasing you around just as that guy with the helmet starts blowin' stuff up. But now it's all good. Everythin' alright at the Watchpoint?" McCree said.

"Um, no. Those guys weren't alone, there's a bunch of others attacking. They're working with Widowmaker. You heard of her?" Tracer said. McCree's face darkened.

"That one, huh? Yeah, I heard of her. Somebody should call the undertaker." He said, inclining his head at the bodies. After a moment, he shrugged. "Alright, let's go. Justice ain't gonna dispense itself."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, guys, thanks for reading the newest chapter. For those of you reading it when it's just been published, yep, it's out early. That's because I have two exams tomorrow and may not have time to upload, so I'm giving it to you all early. Enjoy.  
**

 **Also, special thanks to my friend Doccy Larsson Seraphim for a couple reasons. Firstly, for coming up with the name to this story, which I've forgotten to credit him for until now. I am shit at names, so you're a lifesaver, man. There will be a character appearing later in the story based on him. Also, thanks to Doccy for a couple of the jokes in this chapter. Namely Soldier thinking Widowmaker is an alien and also the inspiration for the Soldier-Tracer chase scene and the part where he's saying his gun is faster. There are a couple jokes to come that he came up with, I won't be crediting him for all of them but like, bear in mind that at some points in the story, half the funny shit is him. Check out his stories.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Watchpoint: Marion Downtown Entrance, 2 September 2076, 11:30 AM**

As the van pulled up to the alley, Soldier slid the door open and the mercenaries began filing out of it. Sniper looked around warily and then examined the alley. He frowned.

"There's nothing here, it's a dead end." He pointed out.

"Indeed." Spy said. "Mademoiselle, what do we do?" Amélie glanced at Spy and stepped forward.

"My intelligence says this is the spot and she's never been wrong before..." She said, frowning.

"I say we shoot the walls! Blow them up!" Soldier said. Sniper scowled.

"Soldier, we're trying to not alert the entire city." Spy said. Suddenly, the wall at the end of the alley slid in two, revealing itself to be a set of doors. They slid open and from it stepped the woman Sniper recognized as having thrown him out a window. He scowled and, in unison with the rest of the group, leveled his pistol at her while Soldier gasped.

"It is the lady with the titty machine!" Soldier yelled, aiming his rocket launcher carefully.

"Tracer." Amélie said with distaste. "How lovely to see you."

"Widowmaker, here to crash yet another party." Tracer said.

"Oui." She replied, firing. But Tracer was already gone, vanishing into a blur of blue. Suddenly, the sounds of her unique pistols firing preceded Soldier yelling in pain and turning around, firing a rocket madly into the air. Tracer easily sidestepped it from her position atop the van and the rocket soared into the sky.

"Die, crazy teleporting lady!" Soldier yelled, running at the van and aiming his rocket launcher.

"Soldier, no!" Sniper yelled, pointing his pistol at Tracer. But then, she faded into a blur and vanished behind the van. Soldier snarled and ran into the van, opening the door on the other side, pointing his rocket launcher at the grinning face of Tracer.

"Come and get me, love!" She yelled and once again, she faded into a blue blur of motion, reappearing not far away. Soldier yelled in anger and ran after her, oblivious to the numerous cries from the rest of the mercenaries for him to stop. There was more yelling and the sounds of rockets firing, explosions and screams and Sniper stepped onto the van. He was stopped by Spy's hand on his shoulder.

"There is no time." Spy said. Sniper scowled and got off the van, turning.

"Oh great, that fucking door's closed!" He said. And indeed, the door that Tracer had come from was closed.

"Not to worry." Widowmaker said, sighing. "We've already made a lot of noise, nobody will notice a couple more explosions."

"Don't mind if I do." Demo said, giggling and stepping forward, aiming his stickybomb launcher at the wall. He emptied it out, eight grenades stuck to the wall. "Stand back, lads!" He cried. They all stepped back and Demo activated the bombs, blowing apart the wall. The entrance to the Watchpoint was now open and Sniper steped forward, only to once again be stopped by Spy. He scowled.

"What now?" Sniper said. Everybody looked at Spy, who cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, I would like to say a few words before we go in." Spy said. He paused.

"Go on, then." Sniper said impatiently.

"We are not in our own time. By an accident, we have been cast forward a hundred years. For most men, this would very much look like the end of the world. But _we_ are not most men. We are mercenaries! And within these walls lies the secret to going back to the past! All that stands in our way is a handful of pale BLU-team imitators hiding in some underground base like cowards. We have the will, the _audacity_ to go in there and learn what we need to know to go back home! So come, now, gentlemen, let us go once more into the breach. If you're with me!" Spy said. Despite his annoyance, Sniper could not help but feel inspired. Demo laughed.

"Yes, do it!" He yelled. Heavy, Dell and Medic echoed these sentiments, yelling enthusiastically. Widowmaker smiled and they raced into the darkness ahead.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion Holding Cells, 11:45 AM  
**

Scout flinched as explosions rocked the building.

"What the hell was that?" He muttered. A moment later, the door to his cell was flung open violently and the soldier who Scout remembered was called Ryan stormed in, clad in his full combat attire and wielding his assault rifle.

"Hey, pal, what the hell is goin' on up there?" Scout said.

"Shut up. I'm here to guard you, Sir Charles sent me." Ryan said. Scout frowned.

"Guard me from what?" Scout asked. Ryan scowled.

"Your friends have come to rescue you. Oh, and you know that organization you claim to have never heard of?" Ryan said. Scout looked at him warily.

"Talon, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, those guys. One of their most dangerous operatives is working with your friends. If you make a damn move, I will shoot you and if we're alive by the end of this, I think the commander is going to have a few questions for you." Ryan said.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion Downtown Entrance Hallway  
**

As the mercenaries charged in, they were met by two enemy soldiers crouched behind crates. They yelled in fear and fired wildly, missing every shot as Heavy spun up his minigun and rapidly cleared the corridor by decorating its walls with their interiors. They swiftly moved past the corpses and came to a split. A staircase to the left with a sign reading HOLDING CELLS as well as a door that read MESS HALL, BUNKS, COMMAND CENTER, REC ROOM, TRAINING GYM.

"Where would this intelligence be, mademoiselle?" Spy said.

"The command center. And your friend would be in those holding cells." Widowmaker responded. Spy nodded.

"Sniper, Demoman, you two go and get Scout. The rest of us will go for their command center." Spy said. Sniper nodded and he and Demo began moving down the stairs. The stairs spiraled downwards and it took them about thirty seconds to reach the bottom. Sniper looked ahead and saw a long corridor. There were several wooden doors next to windows that looked into numerous empty rooms, though one such room was not empty. Scout sat in a chair and with him was one of the enemy troops, standing with his gun pointed at the door.

"You know what I'm thinking, Demo?" Sniper said.

"Run in and blow everything up?" Demo asked. Sniper frowned.

"What? No. I shoot that guy through the window, we go in and give Scout his gun." Sniper said. Demo looked a little crestfallen.

"Oh." He said. Sniper rolled his eyes and walked to the window, aiming his pistol.

"Must be one of them mirror/window type things..." He muttered. He pulled the trigger, shattering the window. The enemy soldier did not die but looked quite startled.

"Whoa, whoa!" Scout yelled, jumping out of the chair as the soldier cursed and aimed his gun at Sniper. Sniper took cover by the wall next to the mirror, out of the soldier's line of sight as Demo kicked in the door and fired his grenade launcher twice.

"Fuck, shit, fuck!" Came the voice of the enemy inside, Scout yelling something similar. A moment later, Sniper saw Scout leaping out the window whilst gunshots filled the air before an explosion shook the room. Sniper took a moment to regain his balance then looked in the room. It had been ravaged by the grenades and the soldier within was positively dead.

"What the fuck, lad?" Demo demanded. "You said you had that!"

"I did not." Sniper said. "It's really hard to aim when I can hardly see." Sniper said.

"What?" Demo said.

"That bitch in the orange pants, she smashed my fucking glasses." Sniper said.

"Uh, that bitch has a name." Scout interjected. "And don't you have a spare pair?"

"I did... Back in _1971._ " Sniper snapped. "Conveniently located in my bunk at RED Bread. And also, I could not care less if she had ten thousand names, she threw me out of a fucking window. Don't tell me you've been trying to bag her?"

"Well... I mean, a little. Hey, if it makes ya feel any better, she knocked me out, twice." Scout said.

"It really doesn't. Let's move along, please." Sniper said.

"Alright, alright. Just let me grab that... Hey, is that my pistol?" Scout asked. Sniper looked down at the gun in his hand.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Sniper said. Scout tried snatching it from Sniper's hand but he stepped backwards.

"Gimme that!" Scout yelled.

"No. My arm is broken from your girlfriend throwing me out a fucking window, so I can't use anything that requires two hands. Fuck, you're slow, mate." Sniper said.

"Alright, alright, point taken. Demo, you'd better not have ruined his gun..." Scout said, going back into the cell and retrieving the rifle of the dead man.

"Let's go, lads." Demo said. Sniper and Scout nodded and they headed for the stairs.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion, 11:50 AM  
**

The mercenaries were currently in what appeared to be the mess hall. Six enemy soldiers were in cover behind tables and barrels, the mercenaries doing the same. High above, a metal catwalk hung from the ceiling by steel chains and Widowmaker had used her grappling hook to go up to the catwalk where she had disappeared from sight soon after when they first entered the room. Now, they were engaged in a firefight with Overwatch.

Dell sat crouched behind a crate of apples as he blindly whacked the sentry he had deployed atop it with his wrench. The turret fired constantly and occasionally took hits which were repaired by the repeated whacking from Dell's wrench. Not far away, Heavy and Medic were crouching behind an overturned table as bullets whizzed overhead, Medic keeping his medigun focused on Heavy as he built up his Ubercharge. Spy was sitting with Dell, blindly firing his revolver over the crate.

"Spy, how about you deal with them?" Dell said desperately, smacking the sentry with his wrench. It hissed and whizzed as it upgraded, sprouting a pair of machine guns in complete defiance of all the laws of physics.

"I would not be able to kill them all by myself. But I was thinking of cloaking and slipping past them, I could kill one on my way." Spy responded, reloading his revolver. The sentry opened up with its machine guns and a cry of pain was heard.

"Whatever, just do it! We're outnumbered here." Dell said. Spy nodded and looked at his wristwatch. Moments later, he vanished in a puff of red smoke. Nothing happened for a while but then, another yell of pain followed by cries of shock and gunshots split the air. Then, a crackling drew Dell's attention to Heavy and Medic.

"I am fully charged!" Medic declared. Heavy nodded and began to spin his minigun.

"Now, doctor!" Heavy yelled, standing and running into the open. Medic followed and, as the enemies began firing at Heavy, he began yelling energetically as his entire body turned bright red, his eyes glowing yellow. He opened up with his minigun, tearing apart two enemy soldiers. Dell spared a glance and saw that the one his sentry had shot earlier was not dead, just wounded. The three surviving enemy soldiers dived behind cover as Heavy advanced, laughing maniacally and demanding they cry some more. Then, a loud electrical crackling preceded the Ubercharge ending, forcing Medic and Heavy behind cover again before they could be shot at, resuming the stalemate.

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion Command Center, 12:00 PM  
**

"Damn it, damn it, damn it..." Charles muttered as he watched the security footage, the men in the mess hall being cut down by minigun fire and the destruction of Scouts cell. "Where the hell is Tracer?"

"Sir, look at that one, Widowmaker is-" The soldier guarding the command center yelled. Suddenly, the door was kicked open and Widowmaker stormed in, firing two shots as Charles rose to his feet and reached for the gun at his side. One shot pierced the forehead of the soldier who had spoken, the other slammed into Charles' shoulder.

"Fuck!" He gasped as blood sprayed from his shoulder and he was thrown to the ground. He crawled behind his large chair and sat against it, gasping in pain as he checked his soldier and Widowmaker unleashed a torrent of gunfire into the room, killing several of the command center staff that were too slow to find cover. A moment later, Sarah Peters slid to the ground and sat with Charles behind the chair, breathing deeply and rapidly. Her face was stark white and she was hyperventilating.

"Peters, calm yourself!" Charles hissed through gritted teeth. The gunfire ceased and light footsteps filled the air. Charles spared a pained glance out the side of the chair and saw Widowmaker had stepped over to the large computer on the far wall. She pushed aside the body that was sprawled across it and began tapping numerous buttons. Then, she stuck a device into the computer and a holographic screen appeared. Charles could not make out what was on it but then, a large icon appeared, saying 'DOWNLOAD: Y OR N'. Charles cursed. He had no idea what she might be downloading, but it could not be good. He reached for his gun but winced in pain at the bullet in his shoulder. He looked at Sarah, who had not slowed her breathing.

"Peters, listen very carefully..." Charles said. She looked at him, terror written on her face. "Oh, you act like you've never seen a dead body before, calm..." Then, examining her face carefully, it hit him. "Oh, you actually haven't seen a dead body before. I think I know the answer to my question, but I want you to tell me something." He said.

"Y-yes?" She said shakily, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Have you ever shot somebody?" Charles asked. She shook her head and he sighed angrily. "Been on a firing range before?" She shook her head again and he scowled. "Come on, woman, you're American, surely you've fired a gun before?" Once more, she shook her head and he cursed. He reached for his holster and drew his pistol with his left hand. She looked at the pistol and her eyes widened.

"Listen, Peters. Widowmaker is downloading something from the mainframe. I have no idea what it is. But we can't let her steal it. Take this gun, stand up, do not hesitate, fucking well shoot her. Can you do this for me?" Charles asked. She looked at the gun hesitantly, but the nodded. "That's the spirit. Do this right, I'll make you tea and crumpets tomorrow morning." He promised. She smiled weakly, her breathing slowing a little as she took the gun.

"Remember, stand, aim, don't hesitate, shoot. If you hesitate, you die." Charles warned. She nodded and stood slowly. She stood, pointing the gun at Widowmaker who did not seem to notice. And she did not fire. She just stood there. "Shoot, Peters, shoot!" Charles hissed. She sobbed and shut her eyes, firing blindly and emptying the magazine. From the sounds of things, she had not hit a single shot and Charles shut his eyes as a gunshot from Widowmaker's rifle split the air. Moments later, Charles heard the thud of a body hitting the ground next to him. He bit his lip and opened his eyes, looking at the still form of Sarah Peters, a hole in her forehead. His gun was several feet away from her.

"Damn it, Peters..." Charles said, his voice cracking. Even though it was Widowmaker who pulled the trigger, Charles knew that he was the one who killed Sarah. Then, he heard a whooshing sound next to him.

"I agree, that was very foolish of her." Came a deep, accented voice. He flinched and looked to the side. Next to him sat a tall man in a suit, a balaclava on his head. He carried a revolver.

"You... You're one of those..." Charles began.

"Mercenaries from the past? Oui. I am Spy. And you are probably wondering why I haven't shot you, correct?" Spy said. Charles nodded. "Because, I saw what she was downloading. It would appear that my colleagues and I have been played. So, it appears we are not enemies in this. Tell me, if I distract her, can you get your people out of here?" Spy asked.

"I think so." Charles said.

"Good. With any luck, I won't just be distracting her, I'll put a bullet in the bitch." Spy said. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a case. He opened it and Charles saw several cigarettes. As Spy took one out and began to light it, he scowled.

"You're having a _cigarette_? At a time like this?" Charles demanded. Spy grinned as he put his lighter and case back in his jacket.

"Best time there is, rosbif." Spy said, standing and pointing his gun at Widowmaker. "Stop right there, mademoiselle."

* * *

 **Watchpoint: Marion Mess Hall, 12:10 PM  
**

Dell sat behind the same crate. Since Heavy had been Ubercharged, the situation had remained virtually unchanged. Sniper, Demo and Scout had joined them but still they had not advanced, unwilling to risk being shot. The firefight continued, people firing blindly over their cover and further damaging the mess hall. Then, suddenly, a commotion at the door they had come in drew Dell's attention and he saw Tracer and a new man coming in. Tracer's left eye was shut, her left eyebrow had been cut and it looked as if some blood had flowed into her eye. This new man was dressed as a cowboy and they pointed their guns at the mercenaries. Tracer opened fire on Heavy, emptying her pistols as the new man fired his revolver into Dell's shoulder as he pointed his shotgun at them. Dell yelled in pain and as the sentry gun turned to face this new threat, Tracer faded into a blur of motion and appeared in the air above it, throwing some kind of device at it. Then, she faded again and reappeared by the man dressed as a cowboy as he threw a flashbang grenade at Scout, Sniper, Medic and Heavy. Dell scrambled away from the sentry as the device Tracer had attached to it exploded and he was flung away, his head smashing into a wall. His hard-hat had protected him from any serious damage but the force of the blow was still enough to blur his vision and make him feel as if his head had been split open.

"Put your hands up, or we'll shoot!" Came a deep voice. It was the last thing Dell heard before losing consciousness.

* * *

Widowmaker turned around slowly and looked at Spy, ignoring the pistol that was trained on her.

"Ah, Spy." She said. "How lovely to see you."

"Don't play games with me. I saw what you were downloading. Nothing to do with sending us back to the past. Would you care to explain?" Spy demanded. She shrugged.

"I was using you and your comrades. My superiors wanted me to break into this place and steal some information on that hard drive, I made use of you and your friends to make it easier. That night of passion was to make you believe me. It's so easy to trick men." She said, smiling at him. He scowled.

"Whore." He said, firing at her. She dived to the side and fired her rifle blindly. None of her shots hit and he emptied his revolver at her while diving behind cover. She tossed a venom mine where he had jumped into cover but a puff of red smoke and the lack of the mine going off indicated that he had not been caught within the range of its motion trigger. Moments later, another puff of red smoke right in front of her preceded him appearing in sight. Before she could react, he smashed the butt of his pistol into her face and she staggered backwards, her vision blurring momentarily as blood flowed from her nose. She scowled and dived to the floor as her vision cleared. This proved to be a wise decision as she heard gunshots. She rolled onto her side and saw Spy aiming his revolver at her. Before he could fire, she hurled her grappling hook at the ceiling and flew through the air past him, evading his shots and whipping around in mid-air, emptying her rifle. But once again, he was gone. She scowled and stood in the middle of the room, her head sweeping from side to side as she scanned the room. Then, she felt a prickling feeling on the back of her neck, as if she was being watched. She heard a whooshing behind her and whipped around, lashing out with her foot. This was a good decision, as Spy was right behind her, a knife in hand and the aforementioned hand raised into the air.

Her foot connected with his shin and he grunted in pain as he staggered backwards. She smashed the barrel of her gun into his gut, sending him reeling as he gasped in pain, allowing her time to reload the gun. She took aim but once again, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Merde..." She muttered. She frowned and then smirked. "No one can hide from my sight." She called as her visor closed over her face. Ahead of her, she could see the heat signature of Spy, aiming his pistol at her. In addition, she saw the man she had shot in the shoulder earlier fleeing the room with the last surviving staff member, but she ignored this. Quick as a flash, she raised her rifle and fired three shots. Her visor opened and Spy was no longer cloaked. He stood, shock written on his face as he looked down at the three bullet holes in his chest. He dropped his pistol and staggered backwards, backing into a wall. He looked at her in horror as he struggled for air and slid down the wall, leaving three trails of blood on it as he went. He came to rest at the base of the wall, his legs sprawled out before him, his arms limp at his sides. He seemed to be struggling to hold his head up and she smiled softly as she rested her rifle on her shoulder and strode over to the computer. She saw that the download was complete and she took out the device she had put in it, slipping it into a pocket in her jumpsuit. She walked over to Spy and blew him a kiss.

"À la vie, à la mort. Au Revoir." She said as he finally lost the struggle to hold his head up. It slumped against his chest and she laughed softly as she departed the room.

* * *

Scout groaned as he woke up. He vaguely remembered a flashbang being thrown, then a warning to surrender. As far as he could recall, he had then blindly stumbled forward and then, once more, he had been knocked out by Tracer. He looked around and realized that he was tied up, as were Sniper, Demo, Medic and Dell. Heavy was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, groaning in pain. Above him, Tracer and this new man stood.

"Howdy, stranger. You coulda just surrendered." The man said. Scout winced.

"How long was I out?" He asked.

"Not too long. Hey, darlin', can you speak to the boss? I don't have any radio device or nothin'." The man said. Tracer nodded, blushing a little. Scout scowled in jealousy and looked hatefully at the man. He did not seem to notice.

"Hey, commander, we've got them all tied up. What now?" Tracer said.

"Yeah, ask him if we're takin' 'em alive or if I should get together a firing squad with the remaining boys." The man said. Tracer looked at him in horror.

"McCree, no! They're prisoners!" She said. Then, she looked away, her finger to her earpiece. "Right... I see." She looked at Medic. "You're a doctor, right?"

"Well... Ja, I am a doctor." Medic responded. Scout shuddered.

"You'd better come quick. The boss needs you." Tracer said, crouching down and untying Medic. He frowned.

"You expect me to tend to _your_ wounded?" He asked.

"No. But your mate, the guy in the suit? He's wounded. Pretty badly." Tracer said. Medic's eyes widened.

"Take me to him." He said after a moment. They rushed off and McCree pointed at the rest of them with his gun.

"Y'all get that fat lard of yours to the medbay, then do me a favour and lock yourselves in the holding cells." McCree said.

"We're kinda tied up, pal. Hard to carry anything this way, let alone that fatass." Scout said. McCree rolled his eyes and nodded to the soldiers. They moved forward and untied Scout and Dell as McCree kept his pistol trained on them. Scout and Dell crouched down and picked up Heavy, each grabbing one arm and helping the wounded mercenary to his feet. Once they made sure he was not dying, they set off with guns aimed at them.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, guys, thanks for reading the new chapter! If you're wondering whether or not Spy is still alive, don't bother asking in the reviews, you're gonna have to wait until chapter 8 to find out. Allow me to just point something out with Soldier and Pyro, though: They are most certainly dead and they are not coming back. I know that there is no shortage of resurrecting stuff in Team Fortress 2 and Overwatch, but those two are dead for good. One thing you must understand about my stories: Death is final. Even if resurrection exists in the fandom I am writing for, when a character dies, they're gone for good. So Soldier and Pyro are most certainly not coming back. That being said, thanks for reading and I'll see you in two weeks with chapter 8.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Watchpoint: Marion Medbay, 2 September 2076, 12:34 PM**

Medic strode into the medbay and looked around. Many of the beds were filled with wounded people who were being tended to by other doctors and on a nearby bed lay Spy, three bullet wounds in his chest. A man with grey hair and a cane stood by him, this man bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his left shoulder. Medic tugged on his gloves to make sure they were fixed in place and cracked his neck.

"Time to practice medicine." He said, approaching Spy. Spy was connected to a heart-rate monitor which display a very slow, unsteady heart-rate.

"Hang on, you're from the past..." The man next to the bed said, revealing a distinctly British accent. "Do you know what any of this stuff does?" At this, Medic laughed.

"No." He said, looking at the table full of surgical tools next to the bed. He recognized basic items such as scalpels and a defibrillator, there was little change from the past to the future, but there were several needles on the tray on this table. "Hmm, that looks like... Something." Medic murmured, picking up. He looked at the monitor; Spy's heart-rate was failing. He hoped that the needle was what he thought it was.

"Wait, wait for a nurse!" The British man called but he was too late, Medic jamming the needle into Spy's heart and injecting it. Spy's eyes shot open and he gasped for air, sitting up as blood squirted momentarily from his bullet wounds. He looked around, eyes wide, gasping for air. Then, he fell back onto his back and passed out again.

"Wunderbar." Medic said, throwing the needle aside and ripping open Spy's suit jacket and shirt to expose the wounds. He examined them, prodding them. "Do we have some sort of X-Ray, Her..." He said, trailing off.

"It's Charles, Charles Chaplin. We don't have an X-Ray but that little tablet there, does a similar thing. Just push the blue button, I think." He replied. Medic looked at the device Charles indicated and picked up the small tablet, looking at the screen as he raised it over Spy's body. He pushed the blue button and on the screen, he was treated to the sight of an internal view of Spy's body.

"As I thought, Herr Chaplin, two bullets to the left lung, one managed to miss all vital organs. They all punched right through him, I'm going to need to cut him open to patch up those holes in his lungs." As he spoke, he stripped off his gloves and shed his coat, rolling up his sleeves. Charles looked at him with concern.

"Is that sanitary, did you sterilize your hands?" Charles said with concern.

"Of course I did, Herr Chaplin." Medic said. As a nurse passed, he sniggered and tapped his shoulder, whispering "No, I didn't." to the nurse. Medic looked around, trying to remember what did what. He grabbed a scalpel and made an incision into Spy's chest cavity. As he began the process of opening up Spy's ribcage to get at the lungs, he heard a retching sound and spared a glance, seeing Charles leaning heavily on the wall, gagging.

"Tell me, Herr Chaplin, have you ever heard the story of-" Medic began.

"Please, no stories, just do your... That..." Charles said, shuddering. Medic rolled his eyes.

"Spoilsport." He said. He heard footsteps and the sound of the door opening.

"Medic, why can't you just use your medigun for this?" Scout called. Medic sighed as he held Spy's disconnected sternum in his bloodstained hand, turning and leaning on the bed, gesturing with the hand that gripped the sternum.

"Because, dummkopf, I've always wanted to operate on a punctured lung!" Medic said. Charles looked mortified.

"You've never done this procedure before?" He asked.

"No." Medic replied.

"Do you at least no what you're doing?" Charles said. Medic laughed.

"I have no idea." He said, turning back to Spy and reaching into his chest cavity. Then, he realized he'd forgotten something. "Oh ja, oxygen, we need to put him on oxygen." He said, grabbing an oxygen mask and shoving it roughly onto Spy's face. Then, he continued, oblivious to the goings on around him. He was pulled out from his world by somebody tapping on his shoulder, causing him to scowl and turn around. He saw a white-clad man, likely a doctor. Medic also noted that the other mercenaries were no longer in the medbay but Heavy lay wounded on a bed.

"Excuse me, sir, that's not at all how you operate on a lung wound." The doctor said.

"What?" Medic asked.

"You don't... You don't make an incision..." The doctor said, scowling. Medic rolled his eyes, replacing the lung he had removed.

"Fine, fine. Where is my medigun?" Medic asked. A nurse handed it to him.

"Ah, Danke. Where did you get this?" Medic asked. The nurse shrugged. "A lot of stuff that is happening today makes little sense, actually. How is all this illogical stuff happening?"

"To be honest, I don't think the writer even knows." The nurse said, walking away. Medic shrugged and pointed his medigun at Spy, activating it. The numerous wounds in Spy knitted together, his punctured lungs sealing, his chest cavity closing up again and his clothes buttoning themselves up.

"Oh, that looks gut, very gut." Medic said, wiping his bloody hands on his vest. He turned around to see a revolver pointed at his head, the cowboy staring at him.

"And now you're headed off to the holding cells, stranger." He said. Medic scowled.

"Schweinhunds." He grumbled, raising his hands in the air.

* * *

 **September 5 2076  
**

Scout sat, twiddling his thumbs on the table. He was very bored, having had nothing to do in his new cell the last two days. Then, suddenly, the door swung open and Charles entered, his left arm in a sling. Following him, Tracer and McCree came in. Scout noted that Tracer was not wearing her goggles and had a band-aid on her left eyebrow.

"Hey, what's up?" Scout asked. Charles ignored him as he struggled to pull out the chair on the other side of the table so he could sit in it. When he was finally seated, he looked Scout up and down for a moment. Scout felt somewhat uncomfortable, his eyes wandering around the room to avoid eye contact. Finally, Charles spoke.

"So." Charles said.

"So?" Scout asked. Charles scowled.

"I am in a tricky situation here. After that little fiasco? I had half a mind to have you and your mates all shot and be done with it." He said. "But unfortunately, your friend, Spy, was it? He complicated things a little by helping me out. He distracted Widowmaker while my people and I were escaping and got shot for it to boot."

"Yeah, uh... Is he still alive?" Scout asked. Charles nodded.

"Yes, though he'll be a little short of breath for a while after being shot twice in a lung. And he'll have to quit smoking until it's fully healed, that magic gun your medic used doesn't seem to be able to repair organ damage." He said. Scout sniggered and Charles raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

"Oh man, you don't even..." Scout said, clutching his sides as he began to laugh uncontrollably. "Spy... Quit... Quit smoking..." Scout said, slapping the table as he laughed. Charles did not look amused. When Scout had settled, Charles cleared his throat.

"As I was saying, I've got myself a bit of a dilemma. I can't just shoot you all after what Spy did, I can't set you all free and we can't just hold you people here." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"Why can't you do the last one?" He asked.

"Because, aside from the fact that we have exactly four soldiers still alive including Tracer and McCree, we're closing shop here." Charles said. Scout nodded and then frowned.

"Wait, what?" He said.

"We're abandoning the Watchpoint. Not only did you and your friends blow the place halfway to hell, but it's entirely possible that we're going to be attacked in the next week by either the US military or terrorists." Charles said.

"Yeah, I still ain't following." Scout informed him. Charles sighed angrily and rolled his eyes.

"Because Widowmaker absconded with the locations of every active Watchpoint in the world as well as the names of every currently active Overwatch agent, that's why. We have to get the fuck out of here. All of Overwatch is going underground. Deeper underground." Charles said. "If I'm right, those files are going to be leaked to the entire world within the next two days and if not, then Talon is going to start systematically wiping out Overwatch agents. Or perhaps both are going to happen. Whichever the case, we can't stay here and none of us can just return to our normal lives now." He continued.

"Which comes back to what to do with you and your friends." Charles said, sighing. "Let me just say one thing to you, Scout. We can't help you go back to 1971. According to my scientists, there is no way for you to go back, you're stuck in the present time." He said. Scout wanted to be shocked at this but really, he'd suspected for a few days now. He felt surprisingly indifferent to the news.

"So, what are you here for?" Scout asked.

"I have an... Offer to make. To you and the rest of your comrades. As much as it pains me to say we could... We could use people with your skills. Overwatch is undermanned. At its peak, it was a peacekeeping organization receiving funding from a hundred and fifty states, there were 28,000 members. Now? We're branded criminals, there are a few hundred of us. I'd like you to join us." Charles said. Scout frowned.

"What?" He said.

"You heard him, love." Tracer said gently. Scout had almost forgotten she was there and he forced a smile.

"You could be a hero. We may technically criminals, but we're trying to help people. You could save lives." Charles said. Scout laughed for a moment.

"Um... I don't even know where to start with you people. I mean, do you even know who you're talkin' to?" Scout asked. Charles frowned. "Do you have any idea, any idea who I am?"

"Where is this going, Scout?" Charles asked. Scout chuckled. "I already know who you are."

"Clearly you don't, you're askin' me to join you. OK, basically? Kind of a big deal. You listening?" Scout asked. Charles, Tracer and McCree all looked at him in confusion, awaiting his next words. "Grass grows, birds fly, sun shines and brother? I hurt people. I'm a force of nature. If you were from where I was from? You'd be fuckin' dead." Scout said. Charles looked very confused.

"Alright, that was an... Interesting speech. And the exact reason we need you, your skills would be-" Charles began.

"No, you ain't listening. I hurt people. I don't help them. I've been a criminal my whole life, I've done some shit you couldn't dream of. Helping people has never been a thing I do." Scout said.

"But that's not what you said to me." Tracer interjected, stepping forward. Charles raised a hand to silence her.

"Scout, surely you've entertained the idea of doing something different at some point in your life?" Charles asked. Scout laughed.

"Buddy, causing pain is something I've done for too long to go back." He said. Charles scowled and paused for a moment.

"Scout... All of that? Happened a hundred years ago. I don't give a flying fuck about it and neither does anybody alive today. It's never too late to start doing good and you? You're lucky. You've been given a chance at a fresh start. It's a new century, a new world for you. You don't have to keep doing whatever it was you did before. I believe everybody deserves a second chance, Scout. Do you? Just something to think about." Charles said, rising to his feet. He walked to the door and left. McCree went to the door and then looked at him.

"Just sayin', I share none of his qualms about shootin' you and your pals." McCree said, tipping his hat and leaving. Tracer looked at Scout sadly.

"Well?" Scout said. "What do you think, sweetheart?" He said, sighing.

"I think the world could always use more heroes. And Charles is right, nobody cares about what you did in the 20th century anymore. Goodbye." She said, leaving and closing the door behind them. Scout breathed deeply and shut his eyes, thinking about what had been said.

* * *

Charles looked at Tracer and McCree as they stood outside the next cell. By this point, they had spoken with all of the mercenaries except for the two in the medbay and the sniper, the latter being the one they were about to speak to.

"If none of them actually decide to accept the offer..." Tracer said as Charles was about to open the door. He paused and listened. "What will we actually do with them?"

"I haven't even decided for myself. We'll probably have to shoot them." He said. "Though I'd prefer not to." With that, he entered despite Tracer's obvious distress. The sniper looked up at him and Charles noted that he too had an arm in a sling.

"G'day, what do you want?" The sniper asked.

"Just been making the rounds." Charles said as he sat down. "Before we begin, tell me... What's your name?" Charles asked.

"It's Mundy." He replied.

"Thank you. Uh... Is Mundy your first or last name?" Charles asked.

"Yes." Mundy responded. Charles hesitated then decided to move on.

"I'll be frank with you, Mundy. We can't hold you people here and I'd prefer not to just shoot you all, so I'll give you the offer I've given all your comrades. Join Overwatch, be a hero." Charles said.

"Well, the ladies must love you, Mr Skip The Foreplay." Mundy said, sitting up. Charles heard Tracer sniggering and he frowned.

"As a matter of fact, I've-" Charles said but Mundy held up a hand.

"Mate, I don't give a fuck. Why would I want to join you guys? Aren't you criminals?" Mundy said.

"Well, that's a long story. Though from what your colleagues say, none of you people are strangers to criminal activity." Charles said. "What did you do for a living before you became a mercenary?"

"I was an assassin." Mundy said. "Not a crazed gunman like my dad always said, he never quite learned the difference."

"I see. And what, pray tell, would you do if we just set all of you free and let you go out into the world? Would you get a normal job, maybe do construction work?" Charles asked. Mundy laughed.

"Nah, I'd probably go right back to shooting people for money." He said.

"Case in point, Mr Mundy. Why not join Overwatch instead? You'd still get to shoot people but it would be for the greater good of the world." Charles said.

"Hey, hey, being an assassin is for the greater good as well!" Mundy protested. Charles laughed.

"How?" He asked.

"Well... Uh... But listen, snipin's a good job, mate! It's challengin' work, outta doors. I guarantee you'll not go hungry. 'Cause at the end of the day, long as there's two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead." Mundy explained.

"I don't see how that's for the greater good of anybody." Charles said. "And given how much the world has changed since 1971, you'll probably have a little trouble finding work."

"Oi, nah, fuck off, hey." Mundy said. Charles shut his eyes.

"Oh my God... That is the most... The most Australian thing I have ever heard..." Charles said. "Just... Just consider my offer."

"Yeah, whatever. Oh hey, by the way, who's the monarch now?" Mundy asked. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" He said.

"Well, I doubt it's Liz II anymore, so who's currently the king or queen?" Mundy asked.

"Oh right, you Australians have the same monarch as us." Charles said. "It's King George VII now."

"Thanks, mate. Alright, fuck off, I'm tired." Mundy said. Charles forced a smile as he rose and left.

* * *

 **3 September 2076  
**

Scout yawned and rubbed his back as pain shot up through it.

"Aw man, sleeping on a chair ain't fun..." He muttered, rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up. Suddenly, there was a sharp knocking on the door and it swung open a moment later. McCree walked in alone, hand on his holster.

"Morning." Scout said, yawning. "What's up, Gary Cooper?" He said. McCree frowned.

"Who's... Who's Gary Cooper?" He asked. Scout stretched.

"Old movie star, my mom used to keep pictures of him in her drawer which she thought I didn't know about." Scout said. "He was in some of those crappy cowboy movies."

"Western movies are _not_ crappy." McCree said. "It's a classic form of art."

"From somebody who doesn't know who Gary Cooper was, this sounds like bullshit. What do you want, pal?" Scout asked.

"The commander sent me to bring you to the medbay, he's having a meeting with you and the rest of your group. About that ol' offer of his." McCree replied.

"All of us in a room together unrestr-" Scout began.

"You're gonna be cuffed." McCree interjected, reaching behind his back and producing a pair of handcuffs. Scout laughed.

"Might as well not bother, pal, the amount of times I've had to get out of a pair of handcuffs-" Scout said.

"You got arrested a lot?" McCree inquired. Scout scowled at this second interruption.

"Only twice, actually." He said.

"OK, I don't want to think about what other reason you'd have for getting out of handcuffs a lot, just let me put 'em on you." McCree said.

"And if I say no?" Scout asked.

"I'll shoot you in the foot." McCree responded.

"You're a dick." Scout said, stepping forward and presenting his hands. McCree slapped the cuffs on him roughly.

"Noted. Come on, let's go see the commander." McCree said. Scout rolled his eyes and the two set off. After a bit of walking, they finally reached the medbay. Sniper, Medic, Dell, Demo, Charles and Tracer were all assembled around the two beds that Heavy and Spy lay on, the first four all wearing handcuffs.

"Ah, good, we're all here. You've all been given my offer, so, I trust you've all thought about it?" Charles asked. Heavy, surprisingly, was the first to speak.

"Yes. I will join your organization." He said. Scout was somewhat surprised at the quickness of this. Charles smiled.

"Good. Before I hear the rest of you... McCree, why the hell are they all in handcuffs?" Charles asked.

"Just in case they tried to overpower us." McCree replied. Charles frowned.

"I didn't... Where did you even... Take... Take them off." He said. McCree tipped his hat and did as instructed. When everybody was free, Charles looked around.

"So, as I was saying, you've all made a decision?" He asked. They all nodded.

"I will join you on one condition." Spy said, his voice sounding weak as he sat up in his bed. All eyes turned to him.

"If it's a reasonable request, you shall have it." Charles said.

"If there's ever a time where that blue-skinned bitch resurfaces, she's mine to kill." Spy said. Charles chuckled.

"Given how... Prolific she's been, you'll probably get that opportunity." He said. Spy nodded and lay back down.

"I got nothin' to do..." Demo said. "And I haven't been this... This sober in years... Gimme some of me prized scrumpy, I'll join your fuckin' gang."

"It's not a... Never mind, we'll get you some of that scrumpy." Charles replied.

"I'll join as well, probably ain't gonna be easy for me to apply eleven PhD's from a hundred years back." Dell said. Everybody was silent.

"Eleven... How the hell do you get eleven PhD's?" Tracer asked.

"A lot of money and a _lot_ of spare time." He replied.

"A fascinating tale which you can tell at a later date. You, man who almost killed your colleague. Are you going to join Overwatch?" Charles asked. Medic shrugged.

"Well, I will probably be arrested very quickly in this modern age... Stupid Hippocratic Oath... Uh, ja, I will join you, if I am allowed to perform my research." Medic said.

"I am about 90% certain that you will probably not be allowed to perform it if it's anything like what I am imagining." Charles said.

"Oh, nothing inhumane, Herr Chaplin. Nein, it's completely natural..." Medic said.

"I have a question. Were you ever a member of the Nazi party?" Charles said.

"Nein!" Medic yelled. "I was never a member of the Nazi party, I never partook in experiments of any Jews and I never read Mein Kampf!" He declared. Charles seemed to be doing his very best to avoid eye contact with Medic after that.

"Alright then..." He said awkwardly. "Scout! You! What's your answer to the offer?" Charles said.

"Yeah, love, are you gonna be joining us?" Tracer said hopefully.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He said. She grinned and threw her arms around him.

"Oh, I knew you'd do the right thing!" She said. He felt suddenly uncomfortable as he pushed her away.

"Uh, that's nice, um... Sweetheart, I just wanna say this now, I am _not_ in this for your cause." Scout said. She frowned, her cheeks turning red.

"What? Then... Why are you joining Overwatch?" She asked.

"Ah... Well, because... Beating the shit out of people is really fun. Might as well do it to guys who deserve it." Scout said.

"You just pulled that out of your ass." McCree commented.

"Doesn't make it less true." Scout replied.

"If you live your life based on making shit up on the fly, it must be a sad life." McCree commented. Scout scowled and raised a fist.

"Listen here, pal-" Scout began.

"Alright, before the testosterone levels get _too_ high, we still have one more man to hear from." Charles interrupted.

"Oh, yeah..." Scout muttered, looking at Sniper. "You comin' with us, buddy?" Sniper frowned.

"Fuck off, mate." He said.

"What?" Charles and Scout said at the same time.

"No, I won't join you guys. You do whatever, but I've had enough of this shit. That bitch there you want to bang, she threw me out a window. Medic, you cunt, you said your medigun wasn't working when my arm was broken by me being thrown out a damn window and all of a sudden, Spy's all fine after being _shot in the fucking chest_."

"Aside from breathing troubles, it really doesn't work for organ damage." Medic pointed out.

"Fuck off." Sniper said. "And is nobody even a little curious about what the fuck happened to Soldier?"

"I killed him." McCree commented. "And some guy with a flamethrower."

"There you go. You can play at being heroes and farting rainbows, but I'm out. Are any of you cunts going to stop me from just walking out of this place and never coming back?" Sniper asked. A stunned silence fell over the room. Scout had not expected this outburst and from the looks of things, neither had anybody else. It had seemingly come out of nowhere and Scout was more than a little shaken.

"Surely... Surely you'd at least like me to arrange transport to Australia, as a sign of goodwill?" Charles said.

"Nah, I'll find my own way. All of you drongos can go fuck yourselves." Sniper said, turning and leaving. Nobody spoke for several minutes. Then, Scout decided to break the silence.

"Uh... What the hell is a drongo?" He asked of nobody in particular. Nobody replied. After a little while longer, Charles cleared his throat.

"Well... Now that you're all apart of Overwatch, I uh... We're going to be leaving the Watchpoint, obviously. Fortunately, we already have a destination planned, since we have a job to do."

"What sort of job?" Scout asked. "What do we actually do? Are we like, spies, or cops, soldiers or what?"

"All of the above, really. Well, not so much police anymore. Maybe undercover cops. The current job involves a pair of international criminals from Australia. Get yourselves ready, lady and gentlemen, we're going to London." Charles said.

* * *

 **5 September 2076, Marion**

Sheriff Joseph Johnson stood, sighing as he looked around. The fight from a few days ago had left much work to be done and they were still no closer to finding the people involved that had not been killed. As he looked around, he suddenly heard the sound of a roaring engine. He whipped around and a little while later, a huge, red and black monster truck with dual back tires pulled up by him. The doors opened and from the enormous vehicle, two men stepped. One was small, pale and skinny, wearing a neat suit and dark sunglasses which went well with his mop of brown hair and carrying a clipboard. The other man was a very different sight, standing at nearly 7 feet in height and being completely ripped from head to toe, clad in flannel and jeans, wearing cowboy boots and a stetson hat with a small American flag on the side. His face was round and bony, with a scruffy red neckbeard serving to provide a rather ugly figure.

"Uh, hello, sir. This is a crime scene, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Joseph said. The tall man scoffed and reached into the chest pocket on his flannel shirt, pulling out a leather wallet. He opened it up to display an FBI badge.

"The name's Heinrich, John Adams Heinrich. FBI. This is my partner, Ian Murphy." The man said in a deep, booming voice, putting the badge back in his pocket.

"John Adams... Like the President?" Joseph said.

"That's the one, my parents are very patriotic. And so am I." John declared.

"Uh huh... Ain't you dressed a little casually for an FBI agent?" Joseph said.

"He didn't read the orientation manual." Ian said in a soft tone, his thick Irish accent combined with his name leading Joseph to the conclusion that he was Irish.

"I skimmed it. Boring piece of crap. So, I heard that there was some kind of terrorist attack here, Sheriff?" John asked.

"That'd be right. Three days ago, a man with a rocket launcher blew up a lot of stuff and a man with a flamethrower killed several of my officers. A known Overwatch agent was also spotted by multiple witnesses." Joseph explained. John scowled and spat on the ground.

"Overwatch, eh? Bet they had something to do with it, freedom hating bastards. How many fatalities were there?" He said.

"Nine. One civilian, six of my officers and the two terrorists. We're still looking for the Overwatch agent. One of my officers also spotted a man who I believe to be a former member of the Deadlock gang." Joseph told him. John nodded, looking around the area. He spotted something and walked over to it. Joseph frowned as he watched the enormous man crouch down and put his nose to the ground, sniffing at a patch of dried blood. After a moment, John rose to his feet, a sneer on his face.

"Immigrants..." He muttered.

"Excuse me?" Joseph asked.

"That blood smelt like an immigrant. Or somebody not from America. I'm gonna want to check out the morgue, Sheriff." John said.

"Hold up there, the blood..." Joseph said, trailing off as Ian shook his head.

"I've learned that it's best to just not fight the madness." Ian muttered.

"Alright, let's go down to the station to check out the bodies." Joseph said, sighing. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey all, thanks for reading the newest chapter! This is a pretty big chapter as it marks the final chapter in the first story arc of this story, as well as the introduction of a new minor antagonist who you'll be seeing a bit more of later on. The next five or six chapters are gonna be fun and will see the introduction of three much loved Overwatch and TF2 characters (there may be a wizard involved...) as well as a few OCs, so stay tuned for those chapters when they come out.**

 **Also, Spy was totally going to die at the end of the last chapter in my original plan for this story, but with the help of a friend and also the reviews for Soldier and Pyro's deaths, I changed my mind. Spy lives!**


	9. Chapter 9

**6 September 2076, Des Moines International Airport**

Scout looked at the sleek black jet ahead of them as the group filed out of the van they had been driven from Marion in. On the side of the plane, the word VISH was displayed in blue letters.

"Hey, how are we getting some private jet? I thought you guys weren't too rich?" Scout said. Charles pointed at the writing on the side.

"We're being funded by the Vishkar Corporation, Hale Enterprises and a couple smaller businesses who recognize the importance of Overwatch. That plane's a gift from the first one, in light of recent events. They're helping relocate everybody to safer locations than the Watchpoints we reactivated. Until suitable replacements to them are found, we'll be staying in my London residence." Charles said.

"London residence? I thought you lived in Kent." Tracer said as the door to the jet opened and the stairs were extended downwards.

"Yes. I also own a house in London." Charles responded, leading the way to the stairs. Scout, Tracer and the rest of the group followed and soon they were all aboard the jet. It was a rather luxurious affair, with sofas and tables instead of the usual seats one might find in a plane. Scout saw a large box next to one of the sofas and then noticed that each sofa had one.

"Is that a minibar?" Scout asked, stepping forward and opening it to see that it was a fridge containing numerous beverages. He grinned. "It's a minibar! I could get used to this."

"Yeah, don't." Charles said, sitting down with a grunt before laying his cane across his lap. "We're being funded by a few major corporations but that doesn't mean we have limitless supplies of cash with which to restock minibars. Hale Enterprises and the Vishkar Corporation can only give so much before people start noticing that a lot of money is vanishing.

"Do the minibars have any of me prized scrumpy?" Demo said, peering into the one Scout had opened as Scout reached in for a beer. "Oh, no scrumpy..." As he spoke, Charles looked irritably at them all.

"Sit down, we'll be taking off soon. You can have unrestricted access of the minibars when we're in the air." He snapped. Silence fell over them before the sound of a lighter being lit filled the air. Scout looked around to see Spy lighting up. Spy took a long drag, removed the cigarette and began coughing intensely. He beat his chest, gasped and looked around at everybody, seeming to notice that they were staring.

"What?" Spy asked. Medic walked forward and snatched the cigarette from Spy's grasp, tossing it on the ground and stomping on it. Spy scowled and reached into his suit jacket.

"What did I tell you about smoking?" Medic demanded. Spy said nothing. "You still have a punctured lung, dumkopf!"

"Not to mention that we're in a confined space." Charles muttered. Spy scowled.

"Fantastic. I can't smoke." He said. "Merdes..." He muttered, turning and striding to the end of the jet where he took a seat. As he did, the rest of them sat closer to the front of the plane and a few minutes later, the plane began moving.

* * *

 **7 September 2076, London  
**

Scout grunted as the van skidded to a halt and looked at everybody else. "So, we're here?" He asked.

"Yes, we are. Please exit in an orderly fashion." Charles said from the passenger side of the front seat. In the driver's seat, McCree whistled.

"Pretty impressive house you've got there, Commander." McCree commented. Scout scowled as McCree spoke. He had had plenty of time to think during the plane flight and subsequent drive and he realized that as a matter of fact, he really did not like McCree. As he pondered this, the rest of the group began filing out of the van. Scout was the last out and when he saw the house, his eyes widened.

"Holy shit, you own a mansion?" Scout said, looking at the house. It was enormous, being two stories tall and very wide. Scout counted ten windows on the side facing them and the manor itself was in a large garden. Scout saw in the distance fencing around the perimeter of the property.

"Yes, yes I do. This is my largest property, though." Charles said. "Shall we pop in?"

"How could you _afford_ this, Charles? Overwatch doesn't pay this well." Tracer said in amazement.

"My mother was a CEO and my father was a semi-famous actor. They died in a plane crash and I inherited quite a lot of money, so I bought a few properties outside of Kent and started leasing them. If I wanted to, I could never work again and I'd have a healthy sum of money to live off of. It's funny, though, ludicrous amounts of wealth doesn't really fill the hole left behind by missing parents. Shall we go inside?" Charles said. Silence fell over the group and they did as suggested. The house was even more spectacular from within, with a large entrance hall of sorts reaching up to the ceiling of the second floor, a railing above indicating that some kind of room overlooked this hallway. They walked through the house, Charles in the lead. They passed through an archway into a large room with numerous couches. Another archway led into a kitchen and a large flat-screen television hung on the wall. In the corner, Scout noted a pool table. There were numerous coffee tables accompanying the couches and on one, a large crystal bottle containing a dark amber liquid rested next to numerous glasses.

"This is the first sitting room room, there are two others. There's one upstairs overlooking the entrance hall, that's the only room anybody is allowed to smoke in. Please use coasters when you have drinks, half of these tables are mahogany and I will personally castrate anybody who is responsible for rings on that mahogany." Charles said, picking up the bottle, opening it and pouring some into a cup. He turned around. "Scotch?"

"Holy shit, man, how rich _are_ you?" Scout said meekly.

"Reasonably so. I don't actually live in this house, my home is a much more modest affair in Canterbury. Two bedrooms, one lounge room, a bathroom and a kitchen, that's all. One floor. Couldn't permanently dwell in a multiple-story house with this leg." Charles said as he poured scotch into more cups and offered them. Scout took one and began drinking.

"So, how much would it cost a man to live in this home?" Spy inquired as Scout drank deeply.

"About twenty thousand pounds a month." Charles responded in a matter-of-fact tone. Scout choked on his scotch, coughing and spluttering and looking around. Every one of the mercenaries seemed shocked except for Spy.

"Have you idiots never heard of inflation?" Spy said. "That's probably worth... How much would that be worth to us?" Spy asked.

"About sixty thousand dollars from when you lot were around. Inflation actually happened in reverse for a while, long story. Lots of money went out of circulation." Charles replied. Everybody remained silent. "It's a valuable house. And part of the reason I charge so much is so nobody actually rents the place, I keep it around for Overwatch in case it's needed more than I gain money from it." He said. As he spoke, he drained his glass, refilled it and drank from it again as everybody looked at him in shock.

"So, there are sixteen bathrooms, fourteen bedrooms, four kitchens, three sitting rooms. Each room has been prepared already by my butler, make yourselves at home. We'll be getting our first mission soon enough.

"You have a god damn butler." Scout said, laughing.

"Who else would maintain this place when nobody's around, the tooth fairy?" Charles said. Scout shrugged.

"I don't know, probably." He said. Charles rolled his eyes. He limped off and after a moment, Tracer and McCree both left, leaving the mercenaries together.

"So, what's the plan, lads?" Demo said. "I'm thinking explosives rigged at all the doors so we can make off and they all blow up!" He added.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Scout asked.

"You're right, that'd never work, we need to make sure they can't come after us, explosives can be evaded..." Demo murmured.

"We could kill them in their sleep." Heavy commented.

"What? No!" Scout cried.

"Come on, at least let us kill that cowboy son of a bitch, lad. He killed Soldier and Pyro!" Demo pleaded. "Besides, we don't want them coming after us when we escape."

"Who said anything about escaping?" Spy said. "I did mean it when I said I wished to join them. We have nothing else in this world for us and I'd rather not think I got shot in the chest for nothing."

"Y'all need to hold your horses." Dell said. "Spy's right, there ain't nowhere else for us to go, our old lives are over."

"Yes, but they killed our friends!" Demo replied.

"Just that cowboy prick." Scout said. "And to be fair, we'd killed a lot of them by that point."

"So we just kill the cowboy?" Heavy said, frowning.

"No! We ain't killing any of 'em!" Scout said. "What the fuck, dude?"

"Not even the cowboy?" Demo said in a crestfallen tone.

"Not even the cowboy." Scout said.

"Don't worry, I can 'accidentally' have my medigun malfunction if he ever gets shot." Medic commented. Scout opened his mouth to protest and then realized he had absolutely no problem with that statement.

"Well, if we're done here, I'ma go... Do... Stuff." Scout said. He strode out of the room at a brisk pace and began searching through the house. He found Tracer upstairs in a hallway, a phone in hand. She spotted him and waved.

"Alright, gotta go. Love you, Emily." She said, hanging up. Scout wondered who Emily was and then decided it was probably a sister. "Hey, Scout. What's up?"

"Oh, not much." Scout said. "Just trying to figure out where everything is, this place is huge." Scout said. She smiled softly.

"Yeah, it is." She said.

"So, uh... You may not remember, but before the thing happened, Charles said that some kind of a date between you and me was gonna be a thing." Scout said. Her smile faded.

"Yeah, I remember." Tracer said awkwardly, slipping her phone into one of the pockets on her flight jacket.

"Well, we could, uh... Sort that out?" He said hopefully. She bit her lip.

"Uh, well... A lot's happened since then. The fight, your friends dying, all that..." She said, trailing off. She seemed as if there was something important she wanted to say but was struggling to find words for.

"You want to delay that?" Scout asked. She paused, then nodded.

"Yeah, um... We'll sort it out some other time." She said.

"Alright, that's cool. Anyway, I'm gonna go try and find my room." Scout said, stepping past her.

"Yep. Bye, Scout." Tracer said.

"See ya, sweetheart." He said, grinning. When he found a door labeled 'Scout' he opened it and entered. He shut the door behind him and backed into it, shutting his eyes and swearing. "God damn it, you cowboy son of a bitch..." He muttered.

* * *

 **8 September 2076  
**

Tracer sat on a couch opposite McCree, listening intently as he regaled her with tales of his time in the Deadshot gang. Across the room, she saw Scout watching closely, a scowl on his face. Throughout the room, the other mercenaries were all sprawled across couches, chatting and eating their lunch. As McCree was halfway through a particularly thrilling tale about a gunfight with a rival biker gang in New Mexico, Charles entered the room, carrying a dossier under one arm.

"Alright, gentlemen, madam! I have some news for us!" Charles called over the din. Everybody fell silent and turned their gaze to him. "First thing on the agenda, we're going to be having a new person joining our little team before we start any jobs." He said.

"Why?" Scout said. "Ain't this enough?"

"For what we're doing, probably. But I'm calling a backup medic in case our current one is wounded or killed. After all, who heals the healer when he gets shot?" Charles said.

"Ah, this is not necessary. I fulfill all of our needs." Medic said.

"Be that as it may, I'd rather we had a spare and not need her than need her and not have her, so Doctor Ziegler should be arriving tomorrow. Next up, we've got three persons of interest who we have reason to believe are either in London now or will be soon." Charles said, tossing the dossier onto the coffee table nearest him, which coincidentally was Scout's. Scout opened it and looked at the papers within.

"Jamison Fawkes... Mako Rutledge... Francesca Valenti... Who are these people?" Scout asked. Charles sighed.

"I should have known better than to toss the dossier to you... Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, also known as Junkrat and Roadhog. A pair of internationally wanted thieves from Australia. Francesca Valenti, a crime lord from Sicily with connections to Talon. Intelligence suggests that she is coming into London to deliver something to Talon. Intelligence also suggests that Fawkes and Rutledge are planning on stealing it. Our job is to intercept those transactions when they occur, beat off Fawkes and Rutledge, detain Valenti if possible and get our hands on whatever this woman is giving to Talon." He explained.

"Sounds easy enough." McCree said.

"You say that now." Scout said, frowning as he read through the dossier. "It says here that Junkrat and Roadhog have recently been in contact with a ring of drug dealers here in London. We can take on some mobsters though, easy. I ate those kinds of pricks for breakfast back in Boston." He said.

"Oh, definitely, you can handle the mobsters. But in conjunction with two highly dangerous criminals from Australia? I'm less certain. Especially since given the fact that Talon is involved in all this, we may end up seeing some of their more dangerous operatives, like Widowmaker." Charles said. "Read through that, all of you, I'll have another dossier ready when more information comes to light." He said, nodding and walking out.

* * *

 **9 September 2076**

Scout looked up from his beer as he heard a sharp rapping on the front door. He glanced at Charles across the room.

"You gonna get that?" He called. Charles pointed at his leg.

"It's playing up right now, somebody else can." Charles replied. A moment later, Demo rose to his feet.

"Won't be a moment, lads." He said, draining his bottle of scrumpy and then walking into the entrance hall. As Demo went, he looked around the room at everybody present. Tracer was alone on a chair in the corner reading a book, wearing a T-shirt and tracksuit pants, her chronal accelerator on the coffee table in front of her. McCree was nowhere to be seen and did not hang around with the rest of them very much, which was understandable given how obvious it was that all of the mercenaries hated him, though he was probably in the underground firing range that Scout had discovered the day before. Spy was seated in another corner, coughing violently and glancing around frequently as if he expected somebody to leap out and attack him. Medic was seated next to Dell deep in discussion about some scientific mumbo jumbo Scout couldn't understand and Heavy was nowhere to be seen.

Soon after leaving, Demo returned, a tall blonde woman wearing a white coat entered, carrying a white briefcase in one hand and a long staff in the other. She was quite attractive and Scout immediately rose to his feet.

"Uh, hey there, good lookin'." Scout said. "How's it going?" At this, she smiled softly.

"Very fine, thank you." She said with an accent that was not unlike Medic's.

"Ah, Doctor Ziegler, it's good to have you." Charles said. "I'd rise, but I'm afraid my leg has been giving me a bit of trouble." He said. Scout turned around. Medic looked quite curious, Dell seemed uninterested, Tracer watched the goings-on with a degree of interest and Spy continued coughing as his gaze switched from Scout to the doctor, an irritated expression on his face.

"It's good to be here, Charles. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" She said.

"Six years, as a matter of fact." He responded. "Six years too long, I think."

"You're too kind. Tell me, what's wrong with your leg?" She asked.

"It's been very stiff since I woke up, I can barely bend my knee at all. My butler's tried to help but he was never very good at first aid." Charles said.

"I am a doctor!" Medic said angrily. "You could have consulted me!" At this, Ziegler, Charles and Scout all looked at Medic.

"No offense, but I wouldn't trust you to remove a skin tag." Charles said. Medic looked positively outraged at this statement, rising to his feet and storming out. A moment later, Spy looked around, rose and discreetly slipped out, slipping his hand into his suit jacket. Scout frowned, looking between Charles and Ziegler.

"Yeah, I know when I'm beat." Scout said, sighing and walking out. When he reached the stairs, he found Spy standing halfway up them, eyes shut and a lit cigarette in his mouth, the man breathing deeply and rubbing his arm as a cloud of smoke hung around his head. "Dude, aren't you supposed to be off those?"

"Fuck!" Spy said, starting as he heard Scout's voice. He opened his eyes and glared at Scout, the cigarette remaining in his mouth. "If you tell either of the doctors about this then I will feed you your own prostate."

"Alright, alright, my lips are sealed." Scout said. He began walking up the stairs and when he passed Spy, he paused. "So, uh, there's this cool new thing that got invented while we were away, called the internet. Might want to use it to look up this other thing that was also invented after we left, they're called nicotine patches."

"Go fuck yourself." Spy responded.

"Was just about to." Scout replied, hurrying up the stairs and walking to his bedroom.

* * *

 **9 September 2076, London, Bank Junction**

Francesca Valenti adjusted her white blouse as the car drew to a halt. Her chauffeur, a London man by the name of Steven, glanced at her from the rear-view mirror.

"Will you be long, ma'am?" He asked.

"Not terribly so, no. Just making a withdrawal." She said, glancing out of her tinted windows at the cars parked on the street. She saw a large white van parked on the street which she frowned at but decided to ignore it, opening the door. She strode effortlessly on her high heels across the pavement and into the headquarters for the Bank of England. The building was rather crowded and as she stood in line at the reception counter, she sighed in impatience. After what seemed an eternity, she made it to the front of the queue. She was greeted by a tall man with a shaven head and a layer of stubble around his cheeks.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. What is your business today?" The man asked. She glanced at the name-tag he wore.

"Making a withdrawal, Daniel." She said.

"Eh? Oh, the tag... Alright, not to worry. Name?" He asked.

"Francesca Maria Valenti. I have an item stored in the Vault, a pair of black briefcases. Their contents have not been disturbed, I trust?" She said. Daniel typed a few things into his computer, frowning at the screen.

"No, not disturbed... May I see your card?" He asked. "And some identification, just to prove you aren't some thief."

"Of course." She said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her passport and bank card. She handed both to the man and as he read through the information on his computer and her cards, he whistled a jaunty tune which was broken up by him confirming a few more things with her. He pressed a button and smiled, looking at her.

"Alright, everything seems to be in order. We'll have somebody down in a minute. You're withdrawing both cases, yes?" He asked.

"Yes." She responded.

"Not to worry, then." He said, pushing a button. A microphone sprung up and he blew on it gently. "Front desk to the Vault, we have a withdrawal, please send someone up with the contents of Francesca Valenti's vault." After that, he pushed another button and the microphone sunk back into the desk.

"How long will this take?" She asked.

"Not too long. Is this your first time in England?" He asked.

"Pardon?" Francesca said, frowning.

"I noticed from your accent that you're Italian. Is this your first time in England?" He said.

"No, it isn't. I've been here a few times before." She replied.

"I see. What's your opinion of the place?" Daniel inquired.

"It's agreeable enough." She said. A moment later, she shrugged. "The weather is shit, though." At this, he laughed.

"I couldn't agree more. I imagine it's quite sunny in Italy, here it's either raining or snowing half the time. They say that back in the days of the British Empire, the sun never set. Well now, it never rises." He said. "Ah, your items are here." She turned around at this to see an Omnic in a tuxedo carrying her briefcases. It handed them to her and she nodded curtly. Then, suddenly, as she was about to walk out, a loud commotion drew her attention.

Two men pulled shotguns from a basket, their faces covered by balaclavas. They pointed the shotguns around at people.

"EVERYBODY GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND!" The man roared. She looked around and suddenly, there were half a dozen more of these men, all screaming at people to get on the ground. The Omnic and Daniel both hid behind the desk and as she slowly knelt, one of the robbers approached her, his shotgun trained on her chest.

"Not you, sweetheart." The man said through a thick, cockney accent. One of the others put his phone in his pocket and approached the man pointing his gun at Francesca.

"That was the boss, the Aussies are on their way." The second man muttered.

"Wossat then? I'd have thought they'd already be... PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE DOWN OR I'LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!" He said, rushing to a man who had been dialing something on his phone. The thief snatched the phone from the man's hands and tossed it on the ground, smashing it under his boot. "STAY ON THE GROUND!" With that, he cleared his throat, straightened the black jumper he wore and strode back to Francesca. A moment later, a loud explosion rocked the room and shards of cement fell from the ceiling on the other end of the room, dust filling the area around it. From the new hole in the ceiling, two men dropped. One was tall but hunched over, a bright orange cybernetic hand, a wooden leg and numerous grenades strapped to his shoulders indicating he was rather liberal with his use of explosives. His hair was wild and burning and he grinned like a maniac.

The other man was enormous, standing at over seven feet in height, having a massive belly with a tattoo of a pig on it. He wore little on his upper body, with fingerless gloves, rings and pauldrons accompanying a gas mask that concealed his face but not the stark white hair tied up behind it. The first man carried a grenade launcher while the large man held a hook on the end of a chain. The first one hobbled over to Francesca and looked her up and down, grinning.

"G'day, how's it going? I see you've already saved us the trouble of breaking into that vault, thank you!" The man said, snatching the briefcases from her grasp while the man in a balaclava kept his shotgun trained on her. "So, love, have you got anymore of that stuff hidden around here somewhere?" He asked. She said nothing and the large man raised his hook.

"Violence is usually the answer." He growled. The smaller man laughed.

"Oh, yes it is! Oh well, no time, cops are probably on their way, clock's ticking, tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock, we'd better run! We'll see more of you some other time!" He said. The man in the balaclava cleared his throat.

"What about our deal, mate?" He said.

"Oh yes, sure, clean this place out, but quickly now, we have to go!" He said, grinning like a maniac. Francesca scowled as the thieves spread throughout the building, grabbing as much money as possible before the whole lot went to the hole in the roof and climbed up some ropes that were dropped down a moment later. Francesca cursed as the sound of sirens filling the air informed her that this whole thing was not going to go as smoothly as she had planned.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading the newest chapter! I have a few things to say in this AN, so buckle up.  
**

 **First off, I'd like to apologize for chapter 8. I did a poor job writing it and I'll admit that it's not the best thing I've ever written by a long shot. I myself was unhappy with it and planning to rewrite portions. But lo and behold, the day came to update and I still hadn't rewritten anything so I published what I had. The reviews kind of make me wish I'd waited. On the topic of those reviews, I appreciate the honesty displayed by you all. Though it is quite jarring to be reading such scathing criticism from the same people who not two months ago were praising this story as one of the best Overwatch crossovers on the website, I will be the first to admit that it's deserved criticism. The reactions to Soldier and Pyro dying was poorly handled and while I did not intend to portray people as just blowing off the deaths, that's the message I ended up sending and so I apologize.**

 **A brief explanation is in order for that scene. I did not mean to simply portray people just shrugging off the deaths of their friends. The reason they kept quiet was because they knew that if they caused trouble and if they refused to join Overwatch, they'd be in big trouble. Remember, Charles was HEAVILY implying he'd have them all shot if nobody joined and if they caused trouble, the mercs are too smart to risk throwing their lives away just to tell him and McCree to get fucked. Sniper only did it because it was clear with everybody electing to join Overwatch that he could get away with it. So there is some sense to that scene, I just did a shitty job at conveying that to you guys, so once again, I apologize. I hope some of what I have written this chapter has helped to ease some of the anger.**

 **Next thing on the agenda, I'm sure you've all seen the latest news about Tracer. I'm not going to lie, that news was a bit jarring when I found out given the romance I've been building between her and Scout. So I'll say right here: I won't be disregarding this new material to preserve my story and what I had planned, but you can bet your asses that I'm going to be taking a VERY loose interpretation of the new comic. If future chapters upset you, bear in mind that everything up until this chapter was written and released BEFORE the Reflections comic and I've been building on stuff that somewhat contradicts what we've seen since chapter 3. I won't be giving away all my plans here but just bear in mind that from now on, I will NOT consider myself bound by any canon material that is released after I started writing this unless it in no way contradicts or renders obsolete my story. I got Joss'd as one of my friends said, but I'm gonna keep on trucking.  
**

 **Thanks for sticking through this very long Author's Note and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **P.S. I know that I probably did a shit job at portraying security at the Bank of England, I have no idea how that shit works so I just made some crap up to advance the story. Let it never be said that I am a perfect writer.**

 **Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**9 September 2076**

As Scout slowly walked down the stairs, he heard the sound of the television playing what sounded like the news. He frowned and entered the living room, noticing Charles, Tracer, McCree, Spy, Demo, Dell, Heavy and Mercy all sitting around, staring intently at the flat-screen. He looked and saw an attractive, brunette female anchor with dark skin and striking hazel eyes sitting at a desk with a blue background and the words ATLAS UK in white in the corner of the screen.

"While little information has been released by London Police on the robbery of the Bank of England which was carried out earlier today, eyewitnesses claim that two criminals matching the descriptions of notorious thieves Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, more commonly known as Junkrat and Roadhog, are behind the robbery. Expect an update as soon as more information appears. Onto the next story, American presidential candidate Jackson Hale-" The anchor said. The screen went dark and Scout glanced around, noticing Charles holding a remote. He threw it down.

"Those are the guys we're here for, aren't they?" Scout asked. Charles nodded.

"It would be helpful if the police had released information on the robbery." Tracer commented.

"Yes, it would be. Fortunately, we have our own means of gathering information." Charles replied. "Spy."

"Yes?" Spy asked.

"We need to strike while the iron is hot. Go to Bank Junction and gather as much information as you can, however you need to, before the police make things too difficult. I'd rather we got our own version of events rather than what the police say." Charles said. Spy rolled his eyes.

"Of course. Won't be hard at all." Spy said.

"One more thing. Don't kill anybody unless you absolutely have to." Charles instructed. Spy raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" He asked.

"Corpses raise questions. Questions we don't want to be answering just now." Charles said. Spy sighed.

"That makes it harder. But understood. I'll go now." Spy said. Charles nodded and Spy turned and strode off briskly. Soon after, the sound of the front door opening and closing met Scout's ears.

"So, what are the rest of us doing?" Scout asked.

"Nothing, for tonight. Though my butler is also a talented cook, if anybody's hungry." Charles replied. Scout frowned.

"Yeah, about that butler. You've mentioned him a couple times, but I've never seen him around." He said.

"Maybe you would if you frequented any rooms other than this one and your bedroom." Charles said. "Kingsley!" He called. A few minutes later, a tall, thin man entered the room. He wore a long black tailcoat, dark grey slacks and a white button-up dress shirt with a bow tie. His face was long and hawkish, with elevated cheekbones, a sharp nose, pale skin and deep-set grey eyes. His black hair was short and slicked back.

"Yes, Sir Charles?" Kingsley asked, glancing around the room as all eyes fell on him.

"Scout here seemed to not think you even existed. Would you care to explain to him why that is?" Charles asked.

"Of course. It is common in my trade to be discreet and unobtrusive, to not... Get in the way." Kingsley said, looking at Scout. He spoke in a very refined, soft manner, though despite the relatively low volume of his voice, each word he spoke clearly carried throughout the room.

"Well... Alright." Scout said.

"Even so, one might benefit from the use of his eyes." Kingsley commented. "Is there anything else, Sir Charles?"

"Well, it's almost dinner time." Charles said.

"I was about to tell you that the pantry is rather poorly stocked at the moment, Sir." Kingsley said. "Though I am loathe to suggest it, at the moment a trip to the fish and chips shop down High Street would be a suitable alternative to me attempting to cobble something together from the meager scraps that we have at present." At this, Charles frowned, looking at everybody else.

"Any objections?" Charles asked. Nobody said anything and he shrugged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out set of keys, rising and handing them to Kingsley. "Not a scratch, Kingsley." He said.

"Of course, Sir." Kingsley said. He looked around. "If that's all, I'll be off." He said, slipping out of the room. Scout looked around.

"So, what should we do while we wait?" Scout asked. Charles furrowed his brow.

"If you want, I've still got some whiskey in the cellar, we can do shots." Charles said. "Just a few."

"At 7 o'clock, on a Wednesday, before we've had dinner?" Scout said, frowning. "What are you, some kind of alcoholic?"

"Yes." Charles said. "Who's in?"

"It's high noon..." McCree said, looking down at his wristwatch. They all looked at him in silence for a moment.

"It's... 7 o'clock." Dell said.

"It's high noon where I come from, buddy." McCree said, displaying his watch.

"You could perhaps adjust it to London time, for Christ's sake." Charles said. "I'll ask again, who'd like to do shots?"

"I'm in." McCree said.

"Yeah, I could go for a wee drop o' whiskey." Demo said, his voice a bit slurred. It sounded as if he had already had a few, but Charles seemed nonplussed as he rose to his feet and led the pair out of the room.

* * *

 **Bank Junction  
**

Spy frowned as he examined the area from a rooftop. A police line had been made around the junction, with numerous police cars parked on the road to prevent traffic from coming through. Dozens of policemen patrolled the area, examining the scene of the crime. Spy could see several more within the bank itself. Just outside the building, a dozen men and women sat by a police car as an officer spoke to them. One of the women in the group looked like the woman in the dossier, Francesca Valenti. He looked carefully around, his eyes scanning every inch below him.

Then, he saw a policeman standing by the police line, staring out into space. He was a rather large man, with thick jowls, a brown handlebar mustache and a face redder than a fresh tomato underneath his helmet. In one hand, he held a half-eaten doughnut, in the other, a cardboard coffee cup. Knowing what to do, Spy slipped away from the edge and made his way down to the street.

After a short time, he was just under ten meters away from the fat officer, hiding behind the wall of a building to the left of the man. After a moment of preparation, Spy whistled a low, soft tune, just loud enough for the officer to hear.

"Oh, what's that, then?" Spy heard. The man had a higher voice than Spy expected and he sounded as though he was from Wales. Spy whistled again, just for a few seconds. The sound of footsteps met his ears and as they drew closer, he activated his cloaking device. Not a moment later, the officer turned the corner, frowning and looking around.

"Hello?" The officer called as Spy crept around him. "Who's there?" As he said this, Spy was directly behind him. The officer sighed, putting his hands on his hips and looking around timidly. Spy moved closer, not making a sound, until his left wrist clamped around the man's enormous throat as he moved his right hand over the officer's mouth to prevent him from crying out, dragging him behind the wall as his cloak vanished and the large man struggled, whimpering through Spy's iron grip and feebly slapping Spy in the side of the head. Gradually, the resistance grew weaker as Spy tightened his grip, the officer clawing at Spy's hands desperately. After a little while longer, the resistance ceased altogether and Spy let go. As the unconscious man fell, he caught him, grunting with exertion. He then gently lowered him to the ground, rose to his full height and straightened his jacket as smoke rose into the air around him and he shrunk in height, but grew in size. Spy looked down at the police uniform he now wore, adjusted the police helmet and cleared his throat.

As he strode out into the open and walked towards the police line, he glanced around. It looked like nobody within the area had noticed the disappearance of the officer. When he reached the police line, he ducked under it with some difficulty due to the immense bulk that he was unused to and strode briskly for Francesca. He stopped in front of her and she looked up wearily. She was quite an attractive woman, having tan skin, long blonde hair, sea green eyes and a rather petite frame.

"Hello." Spy said, sounding exactly like the officer he was disguised as.

"What is it?" She asked, rolling her eyes.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about the robbery." He replied.

"Surely your colleagues have everything they need to know, you could learn from them." She said.

"I'd prefer to hear it from you, love." Spy responded. She sighed.

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start with the thieves. Can you describe them?" Spy asked.

"Most of them were wearing balaclavas. But two of them were those thieves from Australia that are all over the news." Francesca replied.

"Right, Junkrat and Roadhog. Now, did they steal anything from you, personally?" He inquired. Francesca narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, but you should know that already." She said warily.

"Just double checking. What did they steal from you?" He said.

"Two briefcases." She responded quickly. "Black."

"And... The contents of these briefcases?" He asked. She did not reply and he rolled his eyes. "We can't very well track down what was stolen if we don't know what it is. They won't be keeping it in the cases, you know."

"They contained... Personal affects." She said, avoiding meeting his eyes.

"And what, exactly, was the nature of these personal affects?" Spy pressed. She scowled and opened her mouth to reply but before she could, a voice called out.

"Oi, Gareth! What the hell are you doing?" A man yelled. Spy scowled, turning around to see a tall, broad-shouldered and handsome officer approaching.

"Questioning the-" Spy began.

"Ah, fuck off, we've already asked her everything we need to know." The man said.

"I just thought-"

"No! No, you didn't think anything!" The man yelled. "Get moving, you fat bastard! Go!" With little choice left to him, Spy walked away, soon reaching the police line. He glanced around and when he was certain nobody was looking, dropped the disguise and cloaked, vanishing into a puff of smoke.

* * *

Scout belched as he finished his dinner, tossing aside the wrappings and looking around as the others ate. When Kingsley had returned, only Charles had come back up from the cellar and the only one who had finished eating before Scout was Heavy, who sat now in silence with his arms folded over his chest. As Scout made eye contact with Heavy, the larger man inclined his head to the archway and rose. After a moment's hesitation, Scout also stood and followed Heavy into the hall.

"What is it?" Scout asked.

"The cowboy man." Heavy said. Scout rolled his eyes.

"Man, don't even get me freakin' started." He said, putting a foot on the staircase. Before he could ascend any higher, Heavy put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back down.

"Get bat. Is time." Heavy told him. Scout frowned for a moment, before realization hit him. He grinned and nodded, running up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom. When he reached it, he entered, retrieved his baseball bat and came back down. Heavy was still there when he arrived and the enormous Russian led the way to the stairs leading down into the cellar.

"After you." Scout said. Heavy shot him an icy glare and Scout went down first, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the doorway into the cellar. He took a deep breath and opened it, stepping in. He found himself in a large hall with row upon row filled with barrels, cases and bottles of various alcoholic beverages. In the middle of the hallway there was a long table with half a dozen chairs around it and two empty bottles of whiskey. Demo was passed out on the table while McCree stood, a shot glass filled with whiskey in hand. McCree nodded at him, downing the shot and putting the glass on the table.

"Howdy." McCree said, wiping his mouth as Scout stepped closer. Scout glanced behind him and saw Heavy had followed. The two walked up to the table and stood, staring at McCree for a second.

"So, what brings you down here?" McCree said.

"We got a bone to pick with you, pal." Scout said.

"Soldier and Pyro." Heavy said. "Our comrades. You kill them."

"Well, yeah. Didn't really have a choice, partner. It was me in an alley with them and Tracer, either them or-" McCree began. Heavy growled and slammed his fists on the table. Demo stirred, but did not wake.

"No. You have choice. You flashbang us. You kill Soldier and Pyro." Heavy snarled.

"Yeah. They were our friends, psychos that they were." Scout said, inspecting his bat.

"Listen, I'd like to... Explain things better..." McCree said, slowly backing away. "But I am a little inebriated right... Aw, hell." He said as Heavy flipped the table over, hurling it to the side and sending Demo sprawling onto the floor. Somehow, this did not wake him. He simply mumbled something about sea monsters.

"Now, hold on." McCree said, stepping back. But Heavy did not listen, sprinting at McCree, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the cobblestone wall. McCree gasped in pain and struggled for air as Heavy held him there and Scout approached. With his other hand, Heavy slugged McCree across the face, snapping his head to the side and sending the stetson hat flying. McCree spat blood from his mouth as Heavy released him, sliding down the wall and massaging his jaw as he looked up. Scout gripped his bat tightly with both hands and slammed it into McCree's gut as he began to stand again. McCree coughed and spluttered as he fell to his knees, gripping his belly and struggling for air. Scout smashed his bat into McCree's shoulder, sending him sprawling with an audible crack. McCree groaned, rolling onto his back and looking up at them through narrowed eyes, his lips bloody. The two stood over him as he rolled over and attempted to rise, using his hands to prop himself up. His left hand gave out under him, the side of him Scout had hit. As he lay there, Heavy delivered a savage kick to McCree's nose, shattering it and sending a spray of blood onto the floor.

"Stand up, coward." Heavy snarled, grabbing McCree's hair and dragging him to his feet. McCree stood facing them, his face covered in blood, squinting, his left arm limp by his side as he raised his right fist defensively.

"I could... Could do this all day..." McCree said, lunging forward with a clumsy punch which Scout easily sidestepped. McCree staggered forward, whipping around and receiving a blow to the gut from Scout's bat for his trouble. He went crashing back down to the ground, moaning softly in pain.

"Well, he's got balls, gotta give him that." Scout said. Heavy looked down at him, scowling.

"JUST WHAT THE HELL DO YOU TWO THINK YOU ARE DOING?!" Came an enraged roar from the door. The two looked up to see Charles, standing with his cane, staring in fury at them. Behind him stood Tracer and Mercy. Tracer rushed into the room to McCree's side.

"Jesse!" She cried, looking at him as Charles and Mercy advanced slowly on Heavy and Scout.

"You had better start explaining, right now." Charles said.

"He uh... Killed our friends." Scout managed, backing away.

"Well, you should have FUCKING THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU BLOODY WELL JOINED OVERWATCH!" Charles roared.

"Jesse, are you alright?" Tracer said. McCree sat up, clutching his shoulder and looking around.

"I've had worse." He managed, his breathing strained. Tracer looked at Scout.

"Scout, what the _fuck?_ " She hissed. Scout was quite taken aback and he looked desperately to Heavy.

"Has... Has she ever cussed before?" He muttered.

"I should think that her choice of words is the least of your concerns, you stupid bastard." Charles said in a low voice, stepping toward them. He stood less than a meter away from Heavy, who met his furious gaze fearlessly. The two men stared each-other down, neither backing off. "Doctor, give McCree an examination. Miss Oxton, help Doctor Ziegler get him out."

"Right." Tracer said, helping McCree up with Mercy. The two helped him out, an arm around each of them, leaving Scout, Heavy and Charles alone with the unconscious form of Demo. After a minute of silence, Charles turned and stepped away, breathing heavily.

"I should have had you all shot while I had the bloody chance." He growled. "But now, it's too bloody late, you're my subordinates. For fuck's sake, you couldn't have kept it to yourselves..." He muttered.

"You should not have made us work with that man. You should have sent him away, to be with some other team." Heavy said. "We could have tolerated Pyro. But Soldier was our comrade. And you make us work with his killer."

"You couldn't have brought up these concerns before, when you were making the decision to bloody join us?" Charles hissed, whipping around. "Your sniper friend, when he was having his little rant and storming off to God knows where, you don't think that might have been a good time to bring up your concerns?"

"You were threatening to shoot us." Scout said. "This might come as a shock to you, but we're not stupid."

"Then how would you describe the last ten minutes?" Charles said. "I've seen malfunctioning Omnics with better sense than you two idiots. My nephew, back when he was just a little baby, he had more intellect than you morons."

"Do not make me-" Heavy began, before being cut off by Charles banging the end of his cane on the ground repeatedly.

"Enough!" He yelled. "You are both going to stop talking to me right now! You are going to go upstairs, apologize profusely to McCree for assaulting him while I figure out just what the fuck to do with you two!"

"Wait, what?" Scout said.

"Hop to it!" Charles snapped. Scout looked at Heavy and then shrugged, walking swiftly across the room. Before he reached the stairs, he heard a mumbling sound and turned to see Demo sitting up, rubbing his eye and looking around.

"What'd I miss?" He slurred.

* * *

Charles paced the sitting room as fast as his limp would allow. Kingsley stood in the corner, observing as Charles muttered under his breath.

"Stupid bastards... Couldn't have..." He muttered, gripping his cane tightly and stopping as he heard a knock on the front door. "Kingsley, could you?" He asked.

"Right away, Sir." Kingsley said, slipping out and returning a moment later with Spy in tow.

"Ah, you're back. I trust you learned something of value?" Charles asked, anger still evident in his voice.

"Something, yes. Is something wrong?" Spy asked.

"Scout and Heavy accosted McCree earlier. Now he has a bruised trachea, nine fractures and a broken nose and shoulder. Your Medic is refusing to help him and Doctor Ziegler does not possess advanced enough technology to make him ready for action in time for anything we need to do, so yes, I'd say something is wrong. What did you learn?" Charles said.

"I wasn't able to find out what was stolen from Miss Valenti, but I managed to cloak and get a look at her phone before I left. She's been speaking with somebody called Azure and is apparently meeting him tonight to deliver something of value to him." Spy said.

"It could be more of whatever Junkrat and Roadhog stole from her." Charles mused.

"Indeed." Spy said.

"Did you manage to see _where_ they're meeting?" He asked.

"Tilbury Docks, she said." Spy replied. "At midnight."

"If you mean to intercept them, Sir, I would advise you make your plans and hurry. It's nearly nine." Kingsley said.

"Right. We'll need a small team, can't send the entire group in or else we'll get their attention and scare them off before we find out what they're doing." Charles said. "But large enough to fight, if the need should arise."

"In that case, I recommend you send Scout, myself and one other person. Scout can be stealthy if he needs to, but is able to put up a fight if he must." Spy said. Charles pursed his lips, folding one hand behind his back.

"After what happened with McCree-" Charles began.

"Does not matter. He would be the best pick for this task." Spy said. Charles scowled.

"Fine. I'll send you, Scout, Tracer and Medic. Kingsley, if you could bring them here." He said,

"Of course." Kingsley said, quietly leaving the room. He returned five minutes later with Tracer, Scout and Medic in tow. Scout looked at Charles and then Spy nervously, shuffling his feet like a schoolboy being scolded by the teacher.

"I want you all to take a car and head to Tilbury Docks. Miss Oxton, I trust you know the way?" Charles said.

"Yeah. I grew up in the East End." She responded. "Why are we going there?"

"I have reason to believe that Francesca Valenti will be there, meeting up with a person I assume is her contact from Talon. I want you to find out what they're doing and, if possible, stop it. Scout, if you don't screw this up, I might reconsider punishing you for what you did to McCree." Charles explained. Scout frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it as he closed his mouth and nodded.

"Alright. Keep in radio contact and good luck to you." Charles said. The four of them nodded and left the room, leaving Charles alone with Kingsley.

"Do you think they'll be successful, Sir?" Kingsley asked. Charles shrugged.

"As long as they find out what Miss Valenti is giving to Talon, I don't care." He said.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, all! My long hiatus is finally over! Sorry for that, just needed to take some time off to enjoy the holidays (which are a bit longer here in Australia than they are for most of you readers). I'll be returning to my regular upload schedule, so be sure to keep your eyes out every two weeks for a new chapter. Apologies for the shorter than usual chapter, as well, though the next one will probably be of a normal length.  
**

 **Also, I now have a Twitter account which I'll be using for story updates. Check my profile for my name on Twitter and once I have some followers, I'll start tweeting to let you all know how chapters are going.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Tilbury Docks, London  
**

Tracer pulled up on the side of the road by the pier, removing the keys from the ignition and glancing through the tinted windows to look around. The road itself was relatively deserted, with two other cars parked along it and nobody driving by. The road was lit by a single streetlight, the dull glow flickering from time to time as if the light was on the verge of going out. The pier was completely empty, stretching over the River Thames with nobody to observe it except for the occupants of the car.

"So, what now?" Scout asked. Tracer looked at the clock within the car. It read 11:21.

"Kingsley said that they were meeting at midnight. The traffic wasn't as bad as I expected, so we got here a bit early. I suppose we'll have to wait." She replied.

"Oh, great." Scout said. "Forty minutes of waiting, I like that." He continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you stop talking, it might be quite a pleasant evening." Spy said from the back seat, yawning. Tracer glanced at Scout beside her and noticed he was now scowling. A smile spread across her face as she looked back out the window. They sat for a long time, waiting in silence. Finally, when the clock read 11:40, a loud noise drew Tracer out of the stupor she had entered. She looked out at the river and saw, in the distance, somebody on a jet ski fast approaching the pier. She narrowed her eyes and pressed her face against the glass, ignoring the sounds of the other three as they too moved to get a look at the approaching figure. As the jet ski came closer, she saw it was black and unmarked. The man on it pulled up along the pier, hopping off and onto the wood planks. Though the tint of the window made it difficult to tell, Tracer thought the man seemed to be clad in light blue attire. From there, however, she could not tell what he looked like, he was too far away.

"We're not close enough." Medic said. She frowned.

"No, we're not. I can't have just driven onto the pier, though." She murmured.

"Maybe we could tell what they're doing from here." Scout said. He did not sound entirely convinced of this, however. A silence fell within the car as they all observed the man as he paced down the pier. As he drew closer, Tracer noticed a rifle slung over his shoulder and began to notice other details on him. He was tall and slim, wearing light blue body armour over his chest and black and dark blue fatigues in a mottled pattern. She could not make out his face as he wore a black helmet and face-mask that covered all of his head except for his eyes. Over his shoulder she could see the fastenings of a short blue cloak which went down to his lower back. As he came closer, he walked off the pier onto the road and looked around, staring for a moment at the car they sat in. Tracer's eyes widened and she pulled herself away from the windows, hunching back in her seat. The man stepped closer, but before anything happened, she heard a car pulling up. He looked away from them and strode past their car. Tracer looked behind her and saw a short white limo parked behind them.

"Good evening, Miss Valenti. You're here early." The man called as a door opened in the limo. From it stepped Francesca Valenti, rising to her full height and regarding the man coldly.

"As are you, Azure." She said.

"I suppose so. You have the cases?" He replied.

"One of them." She responded. "The other two were taken from me during the robbery earlier."

"Spare me your excuses." Azure said. "I've been speaking with my cousin. You remember Sterling, yes? The information he possesses?"

"I recall." Francesca said angrily, her voice lowering. Tracer strained against the window of the vehicle to hear what was being said. "You'll reveal all of my Mafia involvement to the government."

"Don't cross us, Valenti. Your father did, thirty years ago. You recall what happened to him?" He warned. Francesca's next words were inaudible and Tracer looked at the others to see if they had heard. Scout shook his head, Medic and Spy ignored her furtive glance.

"Exactly. Now, I want you to empty out all the other caches that you know and give the contents of them to me, or else you and the boy will end up like him." He murmured. Suddenly, the sound of a speeding car approaching filled the air. Tracer looked around as she saw Azure draw his rifle in the corner of her eye.

"What's this? I warned you, woman-" He demanded.

"This isn't me!" Francesca hissed. "You think I'd betray you, with what's at risk?" He did not answer, lifting his rifle. Tracer craned her neck around the seat to see what was going on and in the distance, saw a dark van rapidly approaching down the road. The van shot past them, its breaks screeching as it rapidly turned, its doors opening and numerous men wearing balaclavas and brandishing sawn-off shotguns. Tracer counted six and as they exited the vehicle and it skidded to a halt, the driver and passenger seat doors opened. From them stepped Junkrat and Roadhog, the former cackling with glee as he raised his grenade launcher and fired several shots high into the air. Two of them landed within a meter of the car that Tracer, Scout, Medic and Spy hid in and her eyes widened as they landed. She flung the door of the car opened as the others did likewise and, grabbing her pistols, leaped out, landing hard on her right shoulder as the grenades detonated and tore the car apart. She yelled in pain as she rolled onto her back, her shoulder dislocated. She shut her eyes momentarily as gunfire filled the air, biting her lip and breathing deeply through her nose. After a moment, she reached over and pushed her shoulder back into its socket, biting so hard on her lip instead of screaming that she drew blood.

"Do you require assistance?" Came the thickly accented voice of Medic. She opened her eyes and sat up, looking around. Medic was crouched next to her, Francesca and Azure were hiding behind the limo, Azure firing over the top blindly, while Scout was running circles around the gangsters, randomly firing with his own shotgun. Spy was nowhere to be seen and she could not see anybody else, the burning wreckage of their car obscuring her view and also providing cover.

"Yeah, I dislocated my shoulder and put it back in place." She said, wincing. "And now it hurts even more."

"Yes, it's usually a bad idea to reduce your own bones when you have a dislocation." Medic said, leveling his medigun at her. He squeezed the trigger and a red beam of energy shot from the muzzle, enveloping her. Suddenly, the intense pain in her shoulder eased and the broken skin on her lip knitted itself back together, the blood receding back into her body. She felt completely rejuvenated and looked around for her pistols. They lay not far from her and as she retrieved them, she looked back to Medic and nodded in thanks.

"I thought that thing didn't work for..." She said, trailing off.

"It's very inconsistent at times, what it can do. Personally, I blame the writing." Medic said, looking around. Tracer rose to her feet and then jerked backwards as a bullet tore through her abdomen, blood squirting from the wound as she gasped, staggering back and looking down as she bled. Her knees began to weaken, but before she fell, she heard the sound of the beam activating and a moment later, the bullet flying from her body as the wound closed and her clothing was repaired. Her eyes widened as she looked, seeing the shot had come from Azure. She glanced behind her to see Medic, standing tall with the medigun fixed on her.

"See what I mean? That probably penetrated your stomach and now you're fine. But Spy can't smoke because his lungs somehow haven't fully healed. Inconsistent." Medic said.

* * *

Spy crept around the limo, his butterfly knife drawn as he slowly approached Azure and Francesca. As he approached, Azure fired a shot over the limo and Spy saw the round hit Tracer, but he payed this no mind, sure that Medic would take care of it. As he approached, however, his cloak faded, a cloud of red smoke appearing around him and a gentle whooshing sound meeting his ears. He cursed silently as the pair turned to face him, a black briefcase next to them. Azure took aim with his rifle.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Spy muttered, lunging forward and kicking the rifle as he was fired upon, sending the rifle spinning onto the ground as smoke rose from the muzzle. He lashed out with his knife, swiping at Azure. He did not try and dodge, instead rising to his feet as the blade scraped against his breastplate. He stepped forward, swinging his fist at Spy, who dodged and thrust the knife at Azure's unprotected throat. Azure managed to avoid the strike and seized Spy's wrist with his right hand and punching at Spy's head with his other hand. Spy managed to catch the blow with his free hand and squeezed tightly on the trapped fist while attempting to free his grappled wrist. The struggle was indecisive and after a few moments, Azure headbutted him, his helmeted head smashing into Spy's nose while clamping down on Spy's wrist. Spy dropped his knife and was momentarily blinded as blood flowed down his face, staggering backwards in a daze as he felt the pressure on his wrist released. As his vision returned and cleared, he saw his foe crouched down over his rifle and so Spy ran forward, kicking him in the ankle as hard as he could. He yelled in pain and fell to the ground, with Spy seizing the moment and rolling him over, straddling the man and clamping his hands around his throat.

Spy could hear a gagging, gurgling sound as his iron grip remained on Azure's throat and the man beat against his arms feebly but Spy showed no mercy, glaring down at him as he squeezed tighter and tighter. The resistance grew weaker until Azure's hands rose to his head, removing his helmet. Spy frowned, confused, as Azure gripped the helmet with both hands. Spy did not have time to register the now exposed face as less than a second later, the helmet was smashed into Spy's face. And then it happened again, with more force, prompting Spy to release his grip and roll off Azure, groaning in pain as he clutched his bloody and bruised face. He heard Azure next to him, coughing and gasping, but he paid him no mind for a brief moment until finally, the pain eased to be replaced by a cold fury. Spy reached into his jacket, drawing his revolver as Azure, his head now exposed to reveal blonde hair and pale skin, scrambled for his rifle. As Spy took aim, his attention was drawn away by the sound of something small hitting the ground and rolling next to him. He saw it was a grenade and stumbled in his rush to get away from it. It detonated and though he was not caught in the blast, he was flung backwards by the shockwave generated by the explosion, smashing into the limo, shattering the window he had landed on, buckling the frame of that particular part of it and slightly caving in the roof as he almost immediately lost consciousness.

* * *

Scout leaped over the roof of the van as he fired his scattergun blindly at the gangsters, who he had by now killed two of. The pellets mostly missed though one managed to graze the shoulder of one man, which Scout supposed was a victory. He looked around for a moment, seeing Roadhog take aim with his ridiculously oversized gun while Junkrat continued to throw explosives around randomly. Scout jumped off the roof of the van as the scrap tore through it, rolling as he landed and opening up with his gun as he completed the roll, managing to hit Roadhog squarely in the gut. The enormous man grunted as blood sprayed from his freshly opened belly. Scout expected him to go down but he did not, instead pulling out a small container and sniffing it. Scout's jaw dropped slightly as the wounds he had just created closed, leaving faint, ugly red scars. Roadhog beat his stomach proudly with his hand and drew his hook. Scout cursed and rolled to the side as the hook was hurled his way. The hook barely missed him, yet somehow, Scout felt himself being pulled towards Roadhog as the hook was drawn back in.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Scout yelled as he stared down the barrel of Roadhog's gun. Roadhog chuckled.

"Piece of cake." He said. Before he could shoot Scout, however, he grunted in pain as Tracer ran behind him and opened fire with her pulse pistols, a rapid stream of blue energy burning into Roadhog's back. Scout fell to the ground and took advantage of the moment as Tracer blinked away, running behind the van and smashing the barrel of his gun into the head of the gangster who awaited him there, knocking the man out cold. Scout crouched down, cursing. A moment later, he flinched as a blue blur appeared next to him, clearing into the small frame of Tracer.

"Cheers, love." She said, breathing heavily. "Don't think I could've got any shots on him if you didn't distract him there. Shall we go back out there?"

"Fuck that." Scout said, scowling.

"What?" Tracer asked, frowning.

"Listen, sweetheart, there's a bunch of assholes with guns running around shooting at me while you use your god damn teleportation crap, that freaking guy keeps blowing stuff up and that hook did NOT fucking hit me but that fat bastard pulled me in!" Scout said.

"Yeah, but..." She said.

"No. Nope, no buts. That skinny prick, Junkrat? Why doesn't he run out of freaking grenades? And I shot that other guy right in the god damn stomach, he was fine!" He said. Tracer smiled softly, raising an eyebrow.

"Mate, I got shot in the stomach not five minutes ago. Grow a backbone." She said, giggling. "If you need any motivation, here. You only get one, though." At this, she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek briefly, before withdrawing and readying her pistols. Scout's heart raced as he felt a fresh wave of motivation. He pumped his scattergun and emerged from his cover, firing blindly. As he did so, Roadhog was just about to turn the corner and was clearly shocked at this sudden display of violence, stumbling backwards as blood spurted from the numerous wounds Scout had just created. He glanced to the side and saw Tracer in the air, opening fire on Roadhog with her pulse pistols once more as she landed gracefully.

"Time's up!" She called, tossing a pulse bomb onto Roadhog before firing at Junkrat while Scout moved back around the van and shot one of the remaining two gangsters. He then shot the other and grinned as an explosion rocked the area and Junkrat yelled in pain. Moments later, Medic ran up to Scout and activated his medigun, boosting Scout's energy as he sprinted around the van to see what had happened. Junkrat was on his knees, severely burned and Roadhog lay prone, charred and smoking, twitching. Scout looked and saw Spy unconscious atop the limo as Azure ran down the pier, rifle in one hand and a black briefcase in the other. Francesca was nowhere to be seen and Scout exchanged glances with Tracer before sprinting after Azure.

Though Azure had a considerable head start, Scout was much faster than him and was on the pier racing after him before he was even halfway to his jet ski. Scout leveled his scattergun and squeezed the trigger, but the gun clicked to indicate it was empty. He cursed and tossed it aside, hearing it clatter on the wood of the pier as he chased Azure. Just as his quarry was a few meters from the jet ski, Scout caught him, tackling him and sending the rifle and briefcase to the floor. The two crashed to the wooden floor and their heads hung over the edge of the pier, Scout looking down at the water as he breathed heavily. Azure struggled below him and Scout rapidly thought of what to do. After a moment, he savagely punched him in the back of the head before standing up and running to the briefcase and picking it up. He began running back along the pier as fast as he could. Pounding footsteps behind him indicated he was being followed. Suddenly, the pursuing feet ceased and Scout slowed, turning around to see Azure was aiming his rifle at Scout. Scout's eyes widened and he turned back around, hurling the briefcase with all his might. It landed just a foot from the pier on the street and Scout dived to the ground as a bullet whizzed overhead.

He rolled onto his back and looked up as Azure ran toward him, reloading his gun. Scout scrambled to his feet and looked from side to side as Azure aimed low. Wincing, Scout ran to the edge of the pier and dived off. The moment he hit the water, he was overwhelmed by just how cold it was. Unprepared for the immense cold of the water that overwhelmed him, he involuntarily gasped and though he rapidly shut his mouth, he was too late and swallowed a large amount of water. He floundered about, his clothes weighing him down as he attempted to get his head above water. As water began to enter his lungs he kicked feebly and thrashed about until finally his head broke the surface. He gasped, gratefully sucking in the fresh, chilled air of the evening. He coughed violently soon after, water coming out with every cough until finally, the coughing ceased.

He looked around, up at the pier. Azure was not on it but he could hear a struggle on the street. He swam to the pier and climbed back up. When he reached the pier, water dripping from his clothes and hair. He looked to the street to see Tracer shooting at Azure as Medic kept his medigun trained on her. The briefcase lay by Azure's feet but he was fixated on Tracer, firing round after round at her and Medic. Scout took a deep breath and ran for him. He turned and raised his rifle. Scout slowed down, not sure what to do. Before Azure could fire, however, there was a loud explosion and smoke filled the air, blinding Scout to anything more than a meter in front of him.

"What's going on?" Scout heard Tracer yell. As the smoke began to clear, a deep, booming voice rang out.

"FOOLS! You DARE have an awesome battle without inviting me?" The voice yelled. Scout frowned. Something sounded very... Familiar about the voice. He looked around for the source as the smoke began to clear, but the voice seemed to be coming from all around.

Scout stepped forward as he saw the silhouette of Azure. Behind him, Scout saw two more silhouettes, not Tracer or Medic. One was very large, wearing what looked like a dress and the other seemed to be wearing casual clothes. Scout frowned, the larger figure seeming to wield some sort of... Staff.

"Who's there?" Scout said.

"Cower in awe, for tonight, you meet with MERASMUS THE MAGICIAN AND HIS SON, MIASMUS!"

"My name's Markus, dad!" Came a second, slightly higher pitched voice.

"No, IDIOT BOY! You're Miasmus! How the hell can you be my son with a name like Markus?" The deep voice yelled. The smoke faded and Scout could make out clearly the two men. There stood Merasmus the Magician, tall, in a dark robe with his mouth covered and an animal's skull atop his head. Next to him stood a shorter man who looked quite similar, but he was clad in a button-up shirt and jeans. He had a similar face shape, similar hair to Merasmus, which definitely made the claim that he was his son seem reasonable. However, Scout knew better.

"Yeah, how the hell is he your son? Aren't you a 6,000 year old virgin?" Scout asked, scowling as he strode down the pier. Tracer and Azure both seemed very confused, but Medic seemed to share Scout's irritation.

"Not as of twenty years ago, Scout!" Merasmus declared proudly.

"My first guess is a hooker." Scout said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"No!" Merasmus yelled.

"She only did that for three years!" Markus yelled at the same time, a hint of an accent which Scout could only describe as European in his speech.

"Bah! Idiot boy! Three years was enough for her to meet me and end up with you." Merasmus snapped.

"She retired when she got pregnant!" Markus said defensively. "She managed to get into a university and find work as a lawyer! If it weren't for the accident, I'd still be with her instead of a crazy dick like you."

"If you two are quite done, we were sort of in the middle of something." Medic called in frustration. As he said this, Azure raised his rifle and Merasmus raised a hand. The weapon shot from his hand, spinning on the ground several meters away and Azure backed away in confusion.

"No!" He yelled. "I came here to have a great time! Blowing things up! And fighting! But you will not start that before I am ready! And I am not ready until I have finished speaking to my fucking son!"

"This was a serious thing we were doing." Medic said, rubbing his forehead.

"Yes, well..." Azure said, before looking to the ground and frowning. "WHERE IS THE BRIEFCASE?!" He roared. Scout looked and saw Junkrat had sneaked up and taken it, running for the van. Merasmus clapped in excitement.

"Oh, yes! Tension! Excitement!" He yelled as Azure chased after Junkrat. Junkrat leaped into the van and cackled as he closed the door and started the vehicle. Junkrat began driving, with Scout then noticing that Roadhog was no longer on the ground. Junkrat drove past them and out of the area. It was then that Scout heard the sirens.

"Crap, it's the cops!" He yelled, looking around. The car they had come in was ruined and they had no other vehicle or time to hot-wire the cars already there. As he spoke, Azure swore and began running down the pier. Tracer and Medic both ran for the limo and Scout followed their example, arriving at the driver seat and opening the door. A short, bald man sat there, frozen and eyes wide, pale as snow.

"Move, pal!" Scout yelled. The man stayed still and Scout cursed, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcibly dragging him from the vehicle as Tracer and Medic pulled Spy from the rear window. Scout checked to see if they keys were still in the ignition - they weren't and so he turned to the man on the ground, glaring down. The man raised a trembling, fat fist, the car key in it. Scout snatched it and hopped into the vehicle, shutting the door and looking into the mirror to make sure the others were in.

"Where are you all going?" Merasmus demanded. "I've only just got here!" As he spoke, Scout put the keys in the ignition and his foot on the accelerator, taking off.

"I'd say anywhere away from you is good." Markus responded dryly.

"Bah! Foolish mortals! We will meet again, soon and you will not flee from me next time!" Merasmus yelled as they raced down the street as a jet ski's motor sounded to accompany the sirens that grew louder and louder.


	12. Chapter 12

After escaping from the dock, Scout drove them without direction through London, the group abandoning the stolen limo after twenty minutes and proceeding with Tracer's guidance on foot from there, Scout and Medic carrying Spy's unconscious form with one of his arms around each man's shoulders. After a few hours of painfully slow traveling, they finally reached Charles' manor.

"The front gate's still unlocked, right?" Scout said wearily as he let go of Spy. Medic grunted and scowled at him as he gently lowered the unconscious man to the ground.

"Unless it's been locked since we left." Tracer said, yawning as she approached the iron gate. "Yeah, it's locked." She said, tugging at a padlock which Scout had not noticed before.

"You got a key?" Scout asked. She shook her head, looking around with uncertainty.

"You could try climbing over." Medic suggested. "Get somebody to come unlock it." As he spoke, Scout looked at the sharp tips of the iron bars making up the gate with reluctance.

"Maybe if we hadn't been walking from the East End to Central London all night, pal." He said, hands on his hips. "I'd probably fall asleep while climbing over and impale myself." As he spoke, the sound of footsteps became audible and moments later, he saw Kingsley walking up to the gate from within.

"You're late." Kingsley commented.

"You're up pretty late." Tracer said.

"In my profession, one has little time for extended periods of rest." He replied, pulling a key from his tailcoat and reaching through the bars, unlocking the padlock and opening the gate. He came through and took Spy's free arm, putting it around his neck. With that, the group went through the gates, Tracer taking the key from Kingsley and locking the gate behind them. They traveled up the pathway and to the front door.

"What happened to the car you took with you?" Kingsley asked as he opened the door.

"It got blown up." Tracer told him.

"I see." Kingsley replied. As they entered the entrance hall, he looked around. "You three get some rest, I'll take him to Doctor Ziegler."

"I'd prefer to care for him myself." Medic said, scowling.

"Be that as it may, you need rest. Let Doctor Ziegler make sure he's still alive for the night, then treat him to your heart's content." He said. Medic continued scowling, but Scout could see from the dark circles under his eyes that Kingsley had a point.

"Fine." He said irritably, relinquishing Spy and striding off. Scout followed suit, making his way for his bedroom. He climbed the stairs, walked down the hallway and entered his room, shutting the door behind him and flopping onto his bed. He was asleep before he even landed.

* * *

Scout was awoken by a shrill scream that permeated the afternoon air. He blinked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Sunlight streamed through the window and after a moment of sitting silently in confusion, he rose to his feet and exited the room. He could not recall where the scream had come from, but he heard the sounds of raised voices downstairs. He walked down the hall and descended the stairway, entering the living room to see Mercy and Medic standing, arguing. On the table was an X-Ray which showed a human chest. Both of the lungs seemed partially scarred in small spots no larger than bullet-wounds and a large device was sticking out of the heart. Realization his Scout as Medic threw his hands up in disgust.

"I told you, stupid woman, it's entirely safe!" Medic snapped.

"Safe? _Safe!?"_ Mercy said, her voice elevated in pitch and volume. "What part of having a murder device implanted into your heart is _safe?_ "

"Murder device? It's no murder device, dummkopf! It's simply for the Übercharge!" Medic replied. As he spoke, Tracer, Charles and Heavy entered the room.

"What in the hell is an Übercharge?" Mercy said.

"It is none of your concern, schweinhund. It is perfectly safe." He said.

"How?" She snapped. Medic rolled his eyes.

"The entire team has had those devices in their hearts for nearly four years. If it were dangerous, I think one of them would have died by now." Medic said in a condescending tone.

"Wait, you didn't actually know if those were safe when you implanted them?" Scout interjected, his eyes widened in horror. Medic shrugged.

"Well, I'd tested it on a little Jewish child before and..." He said before trailing off and glancing rapidly between Charles and Mercy. "It was perfectly safe! One hundred percent success rate! And what are you complaining about, Scout? I got Archimedes out of you after I implanted yours, did I not?"

"Yeah, but I don't think you're supposed to have birds in the operating room when you implant shit in people." Scout said. Mercy's expression was one of utter horror as she shook her head.

"You're not, no." She said, her voice shaky. Medic waved a hand dismissively.

"Pah! You people have no appreciation for the greatest doctors! My colleagues and I were the first to discover that smoking leads to cancer, but do we get any recognition? Nein! All because of that stupid war!" He said, scoffing.

"Which war was this?" Charles asked innocently.

"Oh, please, figure it out yourself. The Stasi was less interrogative than you people." Medic replied.

"Alright." Charles said, looking at Mercy. "Doctor Ziegler, what..." He began before Medic cut him off.

"Doctor? Doctor! Always with the 'doctor' for her! I am a doctor too, you know! I have a name, I am not just the Medic! But no, she gets the name and the title and I get nothing!" He yelled.

"What is your name?" Charles asked wearily, rubbing his eyes.

"My name is Ludwig! _Doctor_ Ludwig! And you never bothered to ask until now! Nobody bothered!" He shouted, storming off. As he left, Dell and Demo entered, frowning as they watched him depart.

"What in tarnation just happened?" Dell asked, removing his hard hat and scratching his bald scalp.

"Whatever it was, we have more pressing concerns." Charles replied. "Miss Oxton told me about what happened last night, earlier. After I saw what was on the news. Was I unclear in the intention of the mission? Because I do not believe I gave instructions to shoot up the dock." He said, folding his right hand behind his chest while clutching his cane tightly with his other hand.

"Hey, that wasn't our fault." Scout said defensively. "We were doing what we were supposed to do, sitting on the car when those two psychos came along and started blowing crap up."

"And you didn't manage to find out what was in the briefcase, at least?" Charles asked. Scout shook his head.

"Nope. You said you talked to Tracer about this, why are you askin' me?" He said. Before Charles could reply, he looked at the others. "We've got worse stuff to worry about, though. Down on the dock, we ran into Merasmus." As he said this, a wave of disappointment rippled through the reds.

"So much for a new life in the 21st century." Dell said, sighing.

"If magic man in dress was there, is bad." Heavy said, folding his arms across his chest. "He could make fighting criminals dangerous."

"Aye, that 'e could. But we could try gettin' me eye back!" Demo said, his eye widening as he looked around, grinning. Nobody shared his enthusiasm and soon his face fell.

"Yeah, well, there's more. He had another guy with him, said it was his... Son." Scout said, rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger as he tried to process that piece of information.

"When in the hell did Merasmus the Magician manage to get laid?" Dell said, scoffing. "Ain't he a 6,000 year old virgin?"

"What the FUCK are you four talking about?" Charles snapped. They looked at him silently.

"That guy in a dress I told you about. And the kid who was with him." Tracer said.

"Let's back it up a little, alright?" Charles said. "Who's this... Merasmus, how do you know him and... How is he 6,000 years old?"

"Merasmus is a... What was it, Sumerian?" Dell said, looking around. Demo, Heavy and Scout all shrugged. "He's a Sumerian wizard who used to be Soldier's roommate and-"

"And he took me fuckin' eye!" Demo yelled, pointing at his eye-patch. "Turned it into a fuckin' demon monster!"

"What the bloody hell are you all talking about?" Charles said, rubbing his eyes. "Sumer, as in that ancient civilization?"

"That one." Scout told him.

"And you say... He's a wizard." Charles said.

"With a robe and wizard hat and all." Dell said.

"But... There's no such thing." Charles said meekly.

"There is, actually." Scout said, patting him on the back. "We learned the hard way." Charles sat down, putting his cane aside and running his hand through his hair.

"I... I need some time to myself. Get out, all of you." He said, reaching to the coffee table for a bottle of scotch and a glass. One by one, they all filed out without question. As they began wandering about, Dell took Scout aside.

"Listen, Scout, do you have a minute?" Dell asked. Scout nodded and Dell glanced around furtively, making sure nobody heard them.

"Well, I've been runnin' some, uh... Experiments, on the teleporter." Dell explained. Scout raised his hands in the air.

"Oh, no, pal. Uh-uh. I am not doing this shit again." He said.

"Will you hear me out?" Dell said indignantly.

"Nope. What happened the last two times you ran experiments on the teleporter? Soldier created a giant bread monster that nearly ate us all and then you sent us forward a hundred years into the god damn future." Scout told him.

"Yeah, well, this one don't involve us, or any bread, going through. Can you just hear me out?" Dell asked. Scout bit his lip, his eye twitching as he folded his arms across his chest and stared at Dell for a moment.

"You got two minutes." He said.

"Thanks. Well, by now, I've figured that there ain't a way to take us back to the 1970s. I had a look at some of the files that Charles gave me access to and experimented with the teleporter and I spoke with Tracer. There ain't no way to go back in time more than a few seconds. Y'see, time's like... A one-way highway. No turnin' around once you get on that stream and you can only get off at a few designated spots. You followin'?" Dell explained.

"Not really, continue." Scout said. Dell nodded.

"So, you can't go back in time. But you can... Project stuff. Leave prints. Words." He explained. Scout frowned. "You'd need something that can do the time stuff on both ends, but if you had that in place, you could..."

"Talk to people from the past." Scout said, his eyes widening. "How the hell did you find this out?"

"Well, like I said, I was digging through files and running experiments on the teleporter. And... I said something around it while I was doing the experimenting and I heard stuff back. Birds and gunfire." Dell explained.

"Birds... You mean, you've set up a link to the teleporter that sent us to this year?" Scout said, his jaw hanging agape.

"Yeah. I turned it off, but with a bit of tinkering, I think I could get it back, if only for a little while. If there's someone on the other side, we can find stuff out and if not, we can do Medic a solid." Dell told him. Scout frowned.

"Now you've lost me." He said.

"Why do you think Med- Doctor Ludwig's been so angry recently?" Dell asked, correcting himself. Scout shrugged.

"I thought it was just because he don't like Mercy." He said. Dell grinned.

"Yeah, that's part of it. But it's also because he's lonely. He misses his birds." He explained.

"How do you know?" Scout asked.

"He told me. So I figured, if we set up this link, we can try and get the birds to fly through and join us. Might make him a bit less of an asshole."

"Alright, let's go do this shit." Scout said enthusiastically. Dell shook his head.

"Not yet. I wanna do a bit more stuff to the teleporter, make sure it's all working. Might take a few days. Keep quiet about this until it's ready."

"Why are you telling me all of this if we're not doing it yet?" Scout asked.

"I'll need an extra pair of hands, Spy's been pretty badly beaten up, the doc's in a bad mood and I don't trust anybody else to not ruin everything." Dell replied. Scout considered this for a moment, then nodded.

"Alright. My lips are sealed." He said. Dell nodded and, after a brief glance around, walked off. Scout stood in place for a little while after this, deep in thought.

* * *

 **14 September 2076  
**

In the days following the confrontation at the docks, the team spent their time laying low in Charles' manor. Spy and McCree spent most of that time recovering from their injuries, the process greatly sped up by Medic's reluctant ministrations. In the mean time, they had all been paying close attention to the news. Among the reportings, there was a great deal of talk about the ongoing election campaign in the United States, with much talk about the Republican candidate, a man by the name of Jackson Hale, who had supposedly spent a great deal of his campaign arguing for the US to try and talk the United Nations into repealing the Petras Act, arguing that with increased terrorism from groups like Talon and with the Second Omnic Crisis in Russia spreading to several neighbouring countries, the world had a greater need for Overwatch than ever before. Hale's main opposition was the current President, a woman by the name of Irene Delano, who argued that problems were nowhere near as bad as Hale made them out to be. Another favoured tactic in her campaign seemed to be smearing Hale, making fun of his early career in business and claiming that as the son of Australian migrants and a dual-citizen, he shouldn't even be considered as a legitimate candidate.

More locally, the news reported a sharp surge in crime within London, with robbery and various drug related crime rates growing alarmingly high. These crimes were mainly thought to be the responsibility of the Hackney Steel Men, a gang of drug dealers and thieves that were likely the criminals that Junkrat and Roadhog had been working with.

On the 14th of September, a cold Monday morning, there was finally a disruption to the constant viewing of the news. Dell had been tinkering with his machines and on that morning, he had woken Scout up early to help him assemble a strange new device that was attached to the teleporter. As Scout handed Dell his wrench and the engineer delivered the last few obligatory whacks to get the machine working, the teleporter hummed with energy and glowed a deep red.

"It's working!" Scout said, grinning. Dell raised a hand.

"Hold your horses there, buddy. I don't know if this thing quite..." He muttered, stepping close to the teleporter and dropping the wrench onto it. The wrench hovered in mid-air above it, not teleporting. "Well, at least we know it ain't doing that." He continued, grabbing the wrench. After a moment of indecision, he turned a dial on the large, bright red box he had strapped to the teleporter. The numerous wires sticking out of loose plating sparked and from the teleporter, the distant, echoed sound of gunfire and explosions could be heard.

"What the hell?" Scout said. "What date is this meant to be hooked up to?"

"Some time in 1972, Scout. After we went through." Dell replied.

"And you're sure that this is the teleporter we came through?" Scout asked.

"About 80%. Just gimme a moment..." Dell said, whacking the teleporter a few times with his wrench before clearing his throat. "Hello! Can anybody hear me?" He yelled as the sounds of gunfire slowly died down. After a moment, Dell repeated himself and moments later, a faint cooing could be heard, like that of a dove. Dell and Scout grinned together, high-fiving as they knew that the machine worked. A moment later, Tracer entered the room, a phone in her hand, a confused look on her face.

"What the hell are you two doing?" She asked.

"Setting up a teleporter into the past so we can try and get the doc's birds into the future with us." Dell said in a matter-of-fact tone. Tracer stood there in silence for a moment, before raising her phone to her mouth.

"I'll call you back." She said meekly, ending the call and slipping the phone into her pocket. "You're doing _what?_ "

"He just said, sugar tits. Pay attention." Scout said. "So, what happens now, hard-hat?"

"Good question, Scout. Hey, Tracer, can you be a doll and go and get the doc?" Dell asked. Frowning, she nodded and left the room. From the teleporter, footsteps could be heard. And then, a familiar female voice.

"What the hell? Is that a teleporter?" Came an echoed, high voice. Scout looked at the teleporter, mortified.

"Miss Pauling?" Scout said, his voice cracking.

"What... Scout? Scout, what the hell?" Came the reply as Scout heard the sound of running. "What the hell are you doing in a teleporter?"

"I'm not... Uh..." Scout said, trailing off.

"We ain't in the teleporter." Dell said.

"Wh- Engineer?" Miss Pauling said. "Where the hell have you all been? It's been months and you all vanished!"

"We went into the future." Scout said, sinking to his knees. "A hundred years into the god damn future and we can't come back."

"Scout, what the hell are you trying to pull?" She said, anger noticeable despite the distortion in her voice.

"Nothing, Miss Pauling. We ran some experiments on the teleporter and ended up in the future. Near as we can figure, there ain't no way back. What happened while we've been gone?" Dell asked.

"A hell of a lot, R-" Pauling replied. As she spoke, the sound of an explosion distorted her speech greatly, masking the second half of her sentence. "Had to get the Blu's. I can't stay, they're coming." She said.

"What, no! Stop, who's coming?" Scout cried. Gunfire and explosions rocked the teleporter and as this happened, Medic burst into the room, his eyes wild, Tracer hot on his heels.

"You're doing _what_?" He yelled, his breath rapid. Dell glanced from Scout to Medic and back again, biting his lip.

"We did some stuff to the teleporter. We're trying to get your birds into the future." Dell explained. A smile lit up Medic's face, tears welled up in his eyes as a hand went to his heart.

"You're doing that for _me_?" He said, his voice filled with emotion. Then, he cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "I suspected as much!" He said, producing a loaf of bread from his coat and stepping toward the teleporter. He stopped and frowned. "Why is there gunfire?" As he spoke, Mercy entered the room, Charles and McCree following soon after.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Charles asked.

"Quiet!" Medic said. "And never mind the gunfire. I must focus! Bird calling is a very delicate art." Moments later, the gunfire died down and the machine strapped to the teleporter began sparking, smoke rising from the gaps in the plating.

"Ah, hell... Might wanna make this quick, doc." Dell said. "Looks like the thing might not be that stable."

"Scout, Engineer, are you absolutely certain that there's no way for you to come back?" Came the distorted, echoed voice of Miss Pauling once more. Medic frowned and looked at Scout.

"Is that Frau Pauling?" He asked.

"Medic? What... OK, back to my question. Engineer, please." She said, her voice not at all calm.

"Naw, we can't come back. I've tried sending stuff back but it don't work and the guys we've joined up with have some files on the stuff that say similar stuff. Why, what's happened?" Dell asked.

"I already told you." She replied. Then, the machine sparked and the teleporter powered down, the noises from the other side fading.

"Aw, hell, no, no, no!" Dell said, running to the machine. He poked at the wires and yelped in pain as sparks jolted into his fingers. He whacked the machine with his wrench and moments later, it powered up again. "Miss Pauling?"

"Yeah, I'm here. What the hell just happened?" She said.

"The machine we're using to contact you ain't as stable as I thought it would be." Dell replied. In the distance, Scout could make out a faint yelling that sounded familiar.

"Is that Soldier?" Medic asked, frowning.

"Didn't I kill him?" McCree muttered to Tracer.

"I think so." She replied.

"I told you, I had to get the help of the Blu team." Pauling said. "Listen, I gotta go. Do whatever you were trying to-"

"Miss Pauling, wait." Scout said, his voice broken. "Step into the teleporter, please. Come and join us." There was a long moment of silence before she finally replied.

"I can't, Scout. They need me here. And I know that the Administrator would find some way to make me pay if I ran away, even in the future." She replied.

"But..." Scout said, faltering. "I never got to say goodbye to you. The last conversation we had was an argument." Though all eyes in the room were upon him, Scout did not care.

"I know. I'm sorry, Scout. I really am, but I had so much work. Goodbye." Miss Pauling said.

"Goodbye." Scout said weakly. A few moments of silence later, her footsteps could be heard, fading away until the only sounds were distant explosions and the cooing of doves.

"Well, if you are _quite_ finished, I have some business to attend to." Medic said, pushing past Scout and break the loaf of bread in half. "Archimedes! Archimedes!" He called. There was a loud cooing in response from the teleporter and Medic smiled, rubbing the two halves of bread together and cooing not unlike a dove as crumbs broke off and fell to the floor. After a full minute of this and as the machine and teleporter both began sparking and humming loudly, Medic began to yodel. It was soft and slow at first, but soon he raised his volume and speed, until the yodeling grew to a deafening pitch. Then, the sounds of flapping could be heard and the teleporter glowed white hot with energy. A moment later, a blood-stained bird burst forth from the teleporter.

"Archimedes!" Medic said, laughing as the dove landed on his shoulder. Then, the teleporter hummed and sparked further, a loud droning noise coming from the machine attached to it as more birds came through, one at a time, flying around and out of the room.

"Aristotle, Socrates..." Medic said.

"No, not the bloody rug!" Charles said, limping after a dove as it defecated on a fine, expensive looking rug and flew out of the room.

"Hermes, Plato..." Medic said, two of the birds joining Archimedes on his shoulder. "Galileo, Wolfgang, Amadeus, Beethoven, Adolf..." He continued as more and more birds came forth. Finally, one last plump dove came forth and snatched up a piece of bread before flying from the room as the teleporter exploded.

"Und Descartes! Wundebar!" Medic declared proudly as all of the birds that nested on him took flight in terror at the black smoke and fire that filled the room.

"Aw, hell!" Dell said, rushing forward to try and salvage the machinery. Scout slowly rose and stepped out of the room, emotionally drained as the sound of doves and a laughing German once more met his ears, after so long in silence.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading the latest chapter! I am incredibly sorry that this came several weeks late, but I have been super busy lately with school and it's left me with little time or motivation to do writing.  
**

 **So, in the likely event that you haven't read my profile I'll repeat what I said there here: I am no longer going to be uploading chapters on a fortnightly basis. As previously stated, I neither have the time nor the motivation to be able to maintain such a schedule. I am sorry about this, but there's little I can do about it. I'll still try to upload at least once a month, but I make no promises. Also, since it's currently the school holidays where I live, I will probably be able to get another chapter out within the next fortnight but if I do, it's the exception and not the rule. At some point later in the year, I may be able to return to my old schedule, but until then I'll write when I am able and upload when shit is done.**

 **In the meantime though, feel free to reread past chapters or look through my other stuff, an increased view count always makes me feel good about myself, but more importantly, be sure to leave a review. I read them and I like all the feedback I get, be it just general praise (good for my ego), criticism (good for pointing out what I'm doing wrong so I can fix it) or some constructive shit (good so I know what I'm doing right so I can keep doing it). As usual, I also answer questions asked in reviews, so keep asking stuff and unless it's spoiler-territory, I shall answer.**


	13. Chapter 13

**18 September 2076**

Scout sat at the recently set up poker table in the main sitting room, accompanied by Charles, McCree, Heavy, Demo and Dell. Dell was in the process of dealing the cards as McCree puffed on his cigar and Charles reached for the bottle of bourbon that lay in the middle of the table, pouring it into a glass. Demo's hand was clasped around a half-empty bottle of scrumpy and Heavy eyed Dell off warily, watching every card as it fell onto the table. Finally, all the cards were dealt and Dell picked up his own hand, the rest of the group following suit. Scout examined his own hand, consisting of a two of spades, a three of clubs, a four of diamonds, a five of clubs and a six of hearts.

"Well boys, place your bets." Dell said, adjusting his goggles.

"I'll open with twenty quid." Charles said, pulling a twenty pound note from his pocket and tossing it in front of him.

"Yeah, this ain't a great hand at all... I fold." McCree said, sighing as he tossed down his cards.

"Hmph. Cowboy man has no resolve." Heavy said derisively.

"Mighta lost it on account of that beating you and Scout handed out." He replied, smiling softly.

"Pah, you could have resisted, if you had not been coward. I raise to fifty." Heavy said, putting fifty pounds onto the table in front of him.

"I bet fifty." Demo said, placing the money on the table.

"I call." Scout said, placing fifty pounds onto the table.

"I call." Dell said, his face completely deadpan as he put forward a note of his own. All eyes turned to Charles as he pondered. Eventually, he shrugged.

"Alright, I'll raise it." He said, adding more money to the table.

"I raise too." Heavy said, adding another fifty pounds to the table.

"I'm out, lads." Demo said, scowling and putting down his hand. "Bloody useless hand..."

"Why'd you bet in the first place if you didn't think you could win? Call." Scout asked, tossing down yet more. The table was beginning to contain quite a large sum of money indeed.

"To see if the rest of ye gobshites had crap hands before I gave up." He replied, swigging from his bottle of scrumpy.

"I'm gonna raise the bet to two hundred." Dell said, placing down the appropriate amount of money.

"I fold." Charles said.

"Dude, you're rich, you can afford the risk." Scout said, chuckling.

"Can does not mean should." Charles responded. All eyes then fell to Heavy, who hesitated.

"I call." He finally said, uneasily placing down more money.

"I'm gonna fold." Scout said, placing down his hand. He did not have the confidence to risk anymore of his cash, not with the hand he had been dealt.

"Well well, Heavy." Dell said, his facial expression unchanging. "Just you and me. I think I might possibly... Raise." He said, throwing down another two hundred pounds. Heavy's eyes widened as he stared at the large stack of money.

"I..." He said, hesitating. "I..."

"Yes?" Dell asked innocently. Heavy gritted his teeth and placed his cards down on the table.

"I fold." He said, defeated.

"Who's got no resolve now?" Dell asked, grinning as he collected his winnings. As he gathered all the notes into a pile and began counting them, he looked at Heavy. "What was your hand, by the way?"

"I had full house." Heavy replied. Dell nearly choked with laughter as the rest of the group looked at one-another in confusion.

"Pal, you folded with a full house? I had a three of a kind." He said. Heavy's facial expression rapidly changed to a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Why would engineer bet so much on three of a kind?" He demanded.

"It worked, didn't it? And now I am 800 pounds richer. Hey, Charles, how much is that in US dollars?" Dell asked.

"Fucked if I know." Charles replied, sipping at his bourbon. Heavy scowled and stood.

"This is not fair. You were bluffing!" He growled.

"Point of the game, Heavy." Dell replied, tucking the money into his overalls. "You should see Spy when he plays, that man can bluff his way to winning a grand with a High Card." Heavy snarled and grabbed Dell by the scruff of his neck.

"Hey, hey, easy there, pal!" Scout said, standing and placing a hand on Heavy's shoulder. As Heavy raised a fist, the sound of a man clearing his throat pierced the air.

"Gentlemen." Came a deep voice. They all looked at the doorway to see Spy approaching. Heavy released Dell and sat down, scowling. "I see you are making the most of your free time. Charles, I've been looking through the dossiers you gave us on the criminals."

"And?" Charles asked, frowning as he looked at Spy.

"I cross-referenced some of the information there with a list of all locations robbed by these 'Hackney Steel Men' in the last few weeks." Spy explained. Charles' eyes widened.

"What did you find?" He asked.

"This." Spy replied, stepping forward and slapping the dossier onto the table. From it slipped a map of London, with numerous red X's marked on it. Several lines were drawn connecting them to one single spot in East London. "Every single place hit by these gangsters within six miles of Hackney has not been more than a ten minute drive from this place. As for the rest of their targets, there is no pattern."

"So you're suggesting that they came from there?" Charles asked.

"The dossier says that they're based somewhere close to that area of Hackney. It's more than what we've had to go on so far." Spy replied.

"So, uh, what's the place circled here?" Scout asked, squinting at the map.

"A bar. Well, a street with a bar on it, but I'm going to check the bar." Spy replied. "Apparently it's quite a shady establishment."

"Hold on, I didn't say you could go and check it out. We don't know a damn thing about what we're dealing with here." Charles said.

"Gangsters, bar, possibly two dangerous Australian criminals. I'll expect the worst and plan accordingly." Spy said. Charles frowned, before sighing.

"Fine, go and find out what you can. But if there happen to be a large group of angry gangsters waiting for you, I'd rather you didn't get yourself killed and just left." Charles instructed.

"Of course. This mission is purely intelligence gathering. I will need a car." Spy replied.

"Speak to Kingsley, he'll sort you out." Charles said.

"Try not to screw the hot one who pretended to be on our side, Medic will be pissed if you get shot in the lungs again." Scout said.

"Go to hell." Spy replied.

"Remember, Spy, whichever car Kinglsey gives you, not a scratch. They're very expensive." Charles warned.

"Of course." Spy said, smiling. He nodded curtly to the group before turning on his heel and striding purposefully from the room.

* * *

Outside the Irish Omnic pub stood a tall man dressed in a black jumper and trousers, smoking a cigarette under a damaged streetlight that stood next to the alley lying beside the pub. The light flickered on and off randomly and there were no sounds but the distant hum of traffic permeating the chilly night air. The man scratched his stubble coated chin as he took a drag, looking around. Down the street, the sound of a car caught his attention, the rather expensive looking scarlet vehicle turning a corner and pulling up not far from him. The driver was a petite blonde woman in a blue dress and as she exited the vehicle, the man smirked and stepped forward.

"Evening, sweetheart. What brings you to this part of town?" He called in a distinctly cockney accent.

"I heard this was a nice place to get a drink." She said.

"If you like dangerous men, it is." He replied.

"Oh? What kind of dangerous are we talking here?" She replied, a sly grin on her face as she stepped closer.

"Oh, just the kind involved in gangs and crime, is all. Pretty dangerous." He said. She stepped closer, now less than half a meter away from him.

"I happen to like bad boys, the kind involved in that. You know any?" She asked. He grinned.

"I'll let you in on a secret, sweetheart. I'm one of 'em. The Hackney Steel Men, that's who I belong to. We're pretty big right now, robbing all sorts of high security places." He said, stepping forward himself.

"Is that so? What's your name, handsome?" She asked.

"It's Tom, love. Tom Sheperd. Now how's about we step inside, get ourselves a bit of privacy?" He asked. She smiled, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching.

"Good idea..." She said, before punching him savagely in the throat. He gagged, his cigarette falling from his mouth as he staggered backwards, clutching at his throat. She kicked him in the ankle and his knees buckled. He clumsily attempted to fight back, but she easily caught his back-handed slap in her arm and twisted it behind her back, causing him to cry out softly in pain. She looked him dead in the eye and as he looked at her, terrified, red smoke collected around her. Her facial features rippled and a moment later, Tom found himself staring into the eyes of an identical copy of himself.

"Honestly, you have to be the dumbest cunt in the world to have fallen for that." The copy said in a voice that was completely indistinguishable from his own, pulling a knife from his pocket and driving it into Tom's heart. He let go of the dying man and Tom fell to the ground, plucking feebly at the blade while blood seeped from it. A moment later, Tom was dragged into the alley and tucked away behind a large collection of rubbish bins. The copy pulled the knife from Tom's body, wiped it clean on his sleeve and slipped it into his pocket before turning and striding out of the alley.

* * *

Tracer stood anxiously in the living room, waiting. She wore a pair of grey jeans and a white t-shirt and across the room from her, Charles sat reading a newspaper. He glanced up at her.

"Anxious for Spy?" He asked wearily. She shook her head.

"No, um, it's the... Thing you said I could do." She replied. Comprehension dawned across his face.

"Right, yes. Why do you look so nervous, anyway? It's not as if she's a stranger to you." Charles said. She smiled nervously.

"No, it's just I haven't seen her in a while." She said. He chuckled.

"Well, I imagine you won't want me around to get in the way. I'll be in my bedroom if you need me." He said, rising to his feet with some difficulty and grabbing his cane. He limped out of the room, the newspaper under his arm. Tracer stood there in silence for some ten minutes, before Scout entered the room.

"Hey there, sweetheart. What's up?" He asked. The side of her mouth twitched and she looked at him in silence for a few moments.

"Not much." She said, looking away.

"Right. So, uh, I was wonderin', if you wanted to maybe have a drink? Hang out?" He asked.

"If you mean that date, I thought we'd established it was off the table." She replied, a hint of irritation in her tone. He raised his hands defensively.

"You said we'd delay it. And I'm just asking to hang out." Scout said innocently, though a glance downward on his part tipped her off to his true intentions. Before she could say anything, the doorbell rang.

"I should get that." She said, striding off hastily. She walked into the entrance hall and to the door, pulling it open. Behind it stood a fair skinned redhead with freckles, dressed in a green skirt and red jumper that was angled in such a manner that exposed her right shoulder.

"Emily!" She cried, grinning and throwing her arms around her. Emily smiled and returned the embrace.

"Hey, Lena, it's been a while." Emily replied.

"Hey, who's this?" Came the voice of Scout. Tracer broke off her embrace and turned to look at him, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"This is Emily." Tracer explained. He frowned.

"She's like, a cousin, or a friend, or..." He said trailing off.

"She's my girlfriend, Scout." Tracer replied.

"Girlfriend as in your friend who you ironically call girlfriend, or-"

"We're dating." She cut him off. His face was afire with a mix of emotions, from confusion to anger to confusion again to pathos and then to a mix of them all.

"Wait, you're a lesbian?" He asked.

"Yes, we are." Emily interjected, anger evident in her tone.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily use that word specifically..." Tracer said helplessly.

"Then what word would you use?" Emily asked, turning to her.

"I don't know, maybe... Um... Anyway, Scout, I don't think my love life is really your business." She said, attempting to regain control of the situation.

"But you totally agreed to that date!" He objected.

"You did _what?_ " Emily said furiously.

"I did not! Charles didn't even ask my permission or let me respond! And I told you no later!"

"You said just a delay because of all the shit that had happened!" He replied.

"Oh my god, can't you take a hint? What the hell did you think that meant?" Tracer asked, impatience and anger starting to assert themselves in her demeanour.

"Exactly what it freaking sounded like!" Scout responded. "What am I, a freaking mind reader? Christ, if you weren't available you should have just told me!" He said, scowling as he turned on his heel and stormed off. The sound of his feet stamping up the stairs could be heard even after he had faded from sight and Tracer stood in silence with Emily for a full minute before Emily broke that silence.

"Now that you've explained me to him, you explain him to me." She said sternly, turning to Tracer and folding her arms over her chest.

"He's a colleague. One of the ones from the time-travel thing I was telling you about." Tracer explained. Emily raised an eyebrow.

"And he was under the impression you had agreed to a date... Because?" Emily asked.

"Because before they'd joined up with us he was hitting on me and Charles promised him a date in exchange for information. He didn't give me a choice." Tracer said. "But I told Scout that I wasn't interested!" She added hastily.

"And how come you didn't tell me about any of this?" Emily said.

"Because I thought I'd dealt with it. I'm sorry I didn't say anything, Em." She said. Emily sighed and uncrossed her arms, placing her hands on her hips.

"I forgive you." She said. Tracer's eyes lit up and she opened her mouth to speak, but Emily raised a finger to stop her. "But you're gonna have to show me one hell of a time to make it up to me."

"I'll do my best." Tracer said, smiling. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Emily moved forward and kissed her. They held the kiss for several seconds before Emily broke off and smiled.

"It has been way too long. You need to spend a little less time saving the world and some more time back home, huh?" She said.

"Duty calls, love. But I do get time off." Tracer replied. Emily smirked.

"How lucky." She said in a low, snide tone. "Let's go and sit down, have a drink."

* * *

Spy pushed the door of the Irish Omnic pub open, walking in. He looked around, seeing several dozen men sitting around in it. Behind the bar itself stood an Omnic in a bartender outfit, wiping a glass clean.

"Hey, Tom, hope you had a good smoke, can I get anything for ya?" The Omnic called. It spoke with a thick Irish accent and Spy frowned for a moment, but then shook his head.

"I'm fine for now, thanks." He replied. At one table, two men sat, both looking at Spy.

"Come over here, Tom!" One of them yelled. Spy walked over to them and sat down.

"Pretty good couple of weeks, eh?" The first of the two men said. He was clean shaven and bald, with green eyes and tan skin.

"Yeah, ain't that the truth. Taking orders from a couple of loonies what come from the other side of the bloody planet. You know, I had a couple friends who were in the group that went to Tilbury. They'd still be alive right now, but those Aussie twats insisted on getting their bloody briefcase, whatever the hell was in it." The second said. He had long, shaggy black hair and was dark skinned, with brown eyes.

"Ah, lighten up, Jacob. We've been doing a lot of decent, normal jobs as well and they've helped 'em go along smoothly. Anyway, I heard from Jim that old Iron Arm is planning something big. Something for the Victory Day parade."

"Oh?" Spy interjected. "How big are we talking here?"

"I don't know any details, but from what I hear, if it goes smoothly then we'll all be very rich men indeed." He replied.

"Sounds interesting. Tell me, where is Jim? I'd like to know what we need to be doing." Spy said.

"He'd probably be talking with the boss." Jacob said, draining a glass of beer and inclining his head for a door at the far end of the bar. By the door stood a tall, burly man in a black vest, black suit pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Might as well wait for him to be done if you really want to talk, Tom. Iron Arm doesn't like interruptions, Al over there won't let you in." The other man said.

"Fair enough." Spy replied. He sat in silence for several minutes as the other two talked, thinking of a course of action. Eventually, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, cloaking when he was out of sight and moving back into the main room, standing stock still for several minutes and watching the door intently. After a little while, one man sitting at the bar stood up.

"Well, lads, it's been a pleasure, but the boss is calling." The man said to two men sitting with him, waving a phone around. He slipped it into his pocket and began walking for the door that Al stood by. Seizing the opportunity, Spy rushed over to him, shadowing his movements as he reached the door.

"Evening, Al. Boss wants to see me." The man said. Al looked at him cynically, an eyebrow raised.

"Show me the proof." Al replied. The man sighed and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a silver tattoo of a clenched fist on his left arm.

"Do we have to do this every time?" The man asked.

"Yes. Now go through." Al replied, opening the door. The man stepped through and Spy followed, staying within a foot of his quarry as the door shut behind him and they descended a staircase. Spy stopped walking for a moment as he heard voices ahead, allowing the man in front to move into the room at the base of the stairs before he slipped inside.

* * *

Scout sat at the table in the cellar, halfway through his second bottle of tequila as he muttered angrily about bullshit lesbians who couldn't just tell the fucking truth from the start and other such tirades as they came into his mind. His attention was momentarily drawn away from his misery by footsteps echoing down the stairs.

"Howdy. Mind if I join you?" Came the deep voice of McCree.

"Sure, why the fuck not?" Scout said irritably. McCree pulled out a chair next to Scout and sat, taking one of the many bottles assembled and pouring from it into a glass.

"You seem like you've had a rough night. Bitter about the poker game?" McCree asked.

"Naw, I'm used to losing to Engie. Just..." He said, trailing off as mistrust filled him. "What's it to you, why I'm pissed, anyway?" McCree sighed, sipping from his glass.

"Scout, I'm gonna level with you right now, I do not want to keep being your worst enemy if we're gonna keep working together." He said. "Now, I know you and your pals are pissed off somethin' fierce about me killing your buddies, but we're all on the same side now."

"Why'd you kill them, anyway?" Scout said, momentarily distracted from his previous sorrows.

"Scout, I was staring down an alley at them, they were standing over Tracer about to kill her and I had about half a whole god damn second to think of what to do before they were gonna start shootin' at me. When you're up against people you've been told are working with Talon and you find yourself in that situation, you try and go for a peaceful resolution." McCree replied as he drank. Scout remained silent for several seconds as he digested this. Now that he thought about it, he supposed McCree had a point.

"If you could go back and change what happened..." Scout asked

"I don't know. But I'd like to think that if I knew you guys would end up joining us, I'd have just shot out their knees instead." He replied. Scout chuckled and swigged from his bottle of tequila.

"Yeah, that probably wouldn't have stopped Soldier." He said, fond memories filling his mind. Soldier was completely insane and sometimes terrifying to work with, but he was also hilarious and lovable in his own manic sort of way. One particular incident came to mind, from back when they all thought that they were riddled with tumours from use of the teleporter, after Spy had presented them all with a bucket. Scout laughed.

"Well, it's in the past, now. So, what was it pissing you off before?" McCree asked. Scout paused as the fond memories were pushed aside, to be replaced with the events of the past half hour. He scowled.

"Tracer. I just found out the hard way that she's a lesbian." Scout said, his voice oozing with malice.

"Oh, that. You didn't know?" McCree asked. Scout squinted at him.

"You _did_ know?" He responded. McCree nodded.

"She mentioned it after you and Heavy beat me up." He said. Scout winced a bit.

"Sorry about that." He said. McCree waved a hand dismissively.

"It's all good. She mentioned having a girlfriend when I tried to taking advantage of my injuries to flirt." He said, chuckling. Scout scowled.

"She wasn't that up-front with me..." He muttered angrily. McCree shrugged.

"Maybe she figured you wouldn't take it well." He replied. "I mean, getting drunk and cussing her out ain't my idea of acceptin' reality with grace."

"Oh, so you're taking her side?" Scout snarled, staring at McCree with fury. He raised his hands defensively.

"I ain't taking any sides. All I'm saying is that there are some things in life we can't help and the best thing to do is accept it and move on." He explained. Scout grimaced as McCree spoke, looking away.

"She should've told me from the start." He said, continuing to drink.

"The start when you and her were enemies? Or the start after that where you'd been promised a date by her boss without even asking her about it ahead of time?" McCree pressed.

"Man, for somebody who ain't taking sides, you sure as hell seem to be on her side." Scout said bitterly as he finished his bottle. He reached for another, but McCree's cybernetic hand blocked him.

"You've had enough." He warned.

"Man, I am an adult and I will decide when I have had enough." Scout said indignantly. McCree looked at him cynically.

"You didn't get much discipline when you were a kid, did you?" He asked.

"None, actually. What's it to you?" Scout asked.

"Well, you're getting it now. Go to bed or I'll whip your ass." McCree said as he finished his own drink. Scout looked at him and opened his mouth to speak, but McCree held up a hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear it. Go sleep and think about what I've said. We'll talk more when you're sober."

"Asshole..." Scout muttered as he reluctantly stood up and stumbled for the staircase. As he walked, the familiar sound of a lighter igniting met his ears and he glanced back to see McCree with a large cigar in his mouth. McCree looked back at him.

"Get." He said sternly and Scout narrowed his eyes, continuing to walk.

* * *

"Last count put our earnings up at just under 'alf a bar, boss." Came the voice of one of the gangsters. Spy hid behind a collection of barrels of some sort as he listened to the conversation, peeking through the gaps to look at the figures before him. One was the man he had followed in, who had been identified as Garth by another man, who had been called Jim by Garth. The third man was a tall, muscle-bound man whose left arm was entirely cybernetic, no doubt contributing to the name Iron Arm.

"Just pocket change to what's coming next." Iron Arm said, his voice a low, rumbling growl.

"The lads don't seem to think so. Most of 'em seem to think that they've made a tidy little profit and don't want to risk it all on something you won't even tell 'em about." Jim said. Iron Arm scowled.

"You think I give a fuck what they want? I'm the motherfucking boss here, those ungrateful cunts do as I say or else." He snarled. Jim held up his hands.

"Come on, boss. Be reasonable. They've been sticking their necks out a lot the last few weeks on account of your new mates." He explained.

"And you said it yourself, they've made a tidy fucking profit. I don't see the bloody problem." Iron Arm replied.

"They need a break, is all. Just a couple weeks off to enjoy themselves before-"

"Don't you give me that shit, Jim. The Victory Day parade is the only opportunity like this we're ever going to fucking get and if those lazy twats don't want to take part, I'll kill 'em myself." Iron Arm snapped.

"Boss, the parade is three days off. If you kill everybody before then, you won't be able to find replacements in time." Garth pointed out. Iron Arm wheeled around to face the other man, baring his teeth.

"If that's the case, I'll do it without them. They can take part and share in the profits, or they can fucking die. I don't need them." He hissed.

"If that's your attitude, I doubt they'll keep following you for much longer. Especially not if you keep sending us out on random jobs for your Aussie mates when nobody gets paid and those Overwatch cunts just kill our men. The lads are sick of-" Jim said. Suddenly, a steel hand was clasped around his throat and Iron Arm's head turned slowly to look at him as he coughed and sputtered.

"You want to say anymore?" He asked. There was no reply, only the sounds of Jim choking. Iron Arm's grip tightened as he stepped closer, his eyes inches from Jim's. "You've been mouthing off at me for too fucking long, you disloyal twat. I won't fucking have it." He snarled. Jim's face began to turn purple and after several long, uncomfortable seconds, Iron Arm let go. Jim's lifeless body hit the ground and Garth stared in horror.

"What the fuck?" He said, his voice rising in pitch and volume.

"Get out of my fucking sight, or you're next." Iron Arm said. Garth turned and ran, tripping as he reached the stairs and smashing his face against them. He only lay stunned for a moment, though, scrambling to get away as fast as possible. A moment later, the sounds of chatter outside flooded down into the room before being cut off by a door slamming. Iron Arm turned away and walked for a table on the far side of the room, a large chart lying upon it as he leaned over and examined it. Spy's hand slipped into his suit jacket, but he stopped the next moment.

"I know you're hiding there. You might as well come out." Iron Arm growled. Spy's heart skipped a beat, but after a moment he stepped out of hiding, dropping his disguise and staring at the gangster before him. "Who sent you? Coppers? One of the other gangs?"

"Overwatch." Spy replied. Iron Arm straightened his back and turned to face Spy.

"Meddling fuckers. That robbery on the docks would have gone much smoother if you lot hadn't turned up." He said.

"Well, I'm afraid that's what we do. Tell me, what's this plan of yours for the parade?" Spy asked. Iron Arm's mouth twitched.

"Ah, you won't be leaving this room alive, what the hell? Victory Day parade is in three days time. The King himself is going to be taking part and he's going to stop off in King's Row to pay tribute to some cunt of an Omnic monk who got shot there. While he's doing that, we're gonna grab him and hold him to ransom."

"I see. And how do you plan on bypassing all of the security that will be there?" Spy asked.

"Now that, I'm not going to say. I've entertained you enough. Any last words?" Iron Arm said, stepping forward. His cybernetic arm hummed with energy and he experimentally punched the palm of his organic hand, sending sparks flying.

"Last words? No. You see, there is one thing you failed to take into consideration before revealing to me what you plan on doing." Spy said.

"And what would that be?" Iron Arm said.

"This." Spy said, activating his cloak and shimmering into a red silhouette before vanishing from sight entirely. Immediately, he sprinted for the stairs, running up them two at a time. He threw the door open as the pounding sounds of feet followed him.

"Stop him!" Iron Arm roared. Spy grabbed Al and hurled him down the stairs before flipping a table with several drunk men playing poker around it, catching one of their glasses as it went flying and hurling it into the face of a man across the room. His cloak shimmered and faded.

"Bar fight!" Somebody yelled excitedly and in a heartbeat, the pub descended into chaos. Yells and cries of pain filled the air and all around, Spy could see somebody throwing a punch at somebody. One of the men at the table he had flipped tackled him to the ground and punched him in the face twice before Spy rammed his fist into the man's crotch with all his might. The man howled like a shot dog and rolled off, clutching his groin and whimpering feebly as Spy staggered to his feet. He cast his gaze back to the door he had come form and saw Iron Arm standing before him, his face afire with fury.

Spy picked up a table and threw it at him, cloaking as it left his hands. Iron Arm punched the table with his cybernetic fist, electricity coursing through his arm and causing the table to shatter into hundreds of pieces before he barreled through the room to where Spy had just been. But Spy was no longer there, ducking and weaving through the chaos of the bar, occasionally tripping people and pushing them into one-another but never performing any action so strenuous as to lower his cloak while he made for the front door. Finally, he reached it and threw it open, running for the scarlet vehicle he had used to come to this place. He fumbled in his pocket for the key and jammed it into the door, twisting it frantically as his cloak flickered and faded away.

He slid into the seat and thrust the key into the ignition. As he shut the door, Iron Arm emerged from the bar, his face red. Spy's eyes widened and he slammed his foot on the accelerator. As he sped down the street, the car shuddered violently from an impact and a glance into the rearview mirror revealed that Iron Arm had jumped onto the back, clutching the rear windscreen wiper with one hand and drawing back his cybernetic fist with the other. Spy spun the steering wheel violently, sending the car screeching in a circle as Iron Arm's fist collided with the rear window of the car. It shattered and the shockwave momentarily deafened Spy, disorienting him as the rear windscreen wiper snapped and sent Iron Arm crashing to the ground.

The car continued spinning until the side crashed into a street lamp, buckling the passenger door and shattering the window. Spy sat still for several seconds as his senses returned, a loud ringing in his ears drawing his ire as his vision cleared. When he could make sense of anything, he glanced into the rearview mirror again and his heartbeat accelerated rapidly when he saw Iron Arm staggering to his feet. Hastily Spy slammed his foot back onto the accelerator and the car took off down the street. As he turned a corner and sped off, he relaxed slightly, slowing down to within the rather generous speed limit of the area.

As he drove down the roads of London, drawing several strange looks from various pedestrians he passed, he spared as much of his attention as he could to examine the damage to the vehicle. He also noticed that his suit was torn in many places and he had received numerous small cuts from the shattered glass. Then, he noticed he wasn't wearing a seatbelt and he buckled it up with one hand, before the final words Charles had said to him before he left echoed in his ears.

 _"Not a scratch."_ Charles had said. As Spy looked at the extensive damage around him, at the large black vehicle that had just started tailgating him, he could not help but start to laugh. The laughter immediately ceased when the black car rammed into his own car's rear. He clutched the steering wheel tightly with both hands as he sped up, his eyes wide as he looked at the mirror to see that Iron Arm was in the driver's seat of the car that had just rammed him.

"Fuck!" Spy yelled as he was rammed a second time, his car veering massively off-course and onto the wrong side of the road. He nearly crashed into a speeding white car as it drove past him, the driver frantically honking his horn and veering off-course to avoid collision. Spy might have normally apologised for such an act, but now his only focus was on survival as he drove as fast as the damaged car could travel. He glanced behind and saw the enormous black car had not stopped in its pursuit and so Spy kept on driving, moving back onto the correct side of the road.

Ahead of him, he could see a bridge and there was surprisingly little traffic, so he made straight for it, always keeping one eye on the larger vehicle behind him. Unconsciously, Spy's left hand moved from the steering wheel to undo his seatbelt. He did not know why, but his gut told him it was the right thing to do and so he did it, despite all logic and rationality screaming the contrary. He ran a red light, nearly crashing into another vehicle but narrowly missing, before arriving on the bridge as the sound of sirens in the distance met his ears. As he drove across it, his car shook violently again; Iron Arm had caught up. He cursed and once more veered onto the wrong side of the road, into the path of an oncoming truck.

His eyes widened and his heart seemed to be trying to burst from his chest as a torrent of four letter words escaped his mouth and he desperately tried to steer out of its path. He managed to drive most of his car out of its path, but the rear of his car was still in its way and the truck hit it dead-on. The car spun violently, Spy losing all control of the steering and being unable to assess the damage as he was spun back into the path of Iron Arm's car. His car slowed to a halt just on the edge of the bridge and Spy looked on in horror, desperately slamming his foot onto the accelerator as the black car sped towards him. Time seemed to slow down as Spy realised that his car would not move anymore and he stared in abject horror as the other car hit his with full force, sending him flying over the edge of the bridge and racing for the icy water below.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I am back! I apologise profusely for the cliffhanger I just ended the chapter on, but I am an asshole like that so it's what you're getting! I'll try and avoid leaving it unresolved for too long, but my motivation for writing waxes and wanes, so who knows when the next chapter is out. What I can promise is that it will most likely be another long one like this and I can also promise that it will be action packed.  
**

 **Anyway, shameless self-promotion aside, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. It took me several weeks to write this one, because hey, it turns out I am not that good at writing scenes that are completely free of both comedy and action. But I got there in the end, so be sure to leave a review, I'd love to know what you all think. As always, questions will be answered in detail and honesty unless it's getting into the realm of major spoilers for later chapters, so be sure to ask away if anything is unclear.**


	14. Chapter 14

The young couple lay on the southern bank of the Thames by the bridge, the man's arm around his lover as they lay on their blanket. She snuggled up to him, looking up at the stars as sirens sounded faintly in the distance.

"What do you suppose that's about, Ted?" She asked, her voice high and soft. He smiled and drew her closer.

"Probably coming to catch us in the act..." He muttered, leaning in and kissing her. Suddenly, a loud banging noise ripped their attention towards the bridge as a severely damaged car was flung violently from the side, slamming into the water and floating for several seconds before sinking beneath, ripples and bubbles tormenting the surface of the river. The couple recoiled, letting go of one-another and scrambling back as they stared at the river. All was quiet for several seconds as the bubbles began to fade. Then, all of a sudden, a man burst from the river, coughing and yelling incoherently, running a few meters before he sank to his knees and fell onto his face. They scrambled to their feet as they looked at the man. He was tall, with a red suit and wearing a red balaclava. His suit was torn in several places and from most of these tears, open wounds could be seen, dark, glistening blood oozing from them. He rose to his feet, his front covered in mud and water dripping from him. Fury was in his eyes as he stared at them, shivering and scowling. The woman looked past him as bubbles formed in the river and moments later, the car bobbed to the surface before sinking back down, ripples and bubbles disturbing the water in the area around it.

"You. How far is it to Central London?" The man said, his accented voice shaky but firm. His finger was pointed accusingly at Ted.

"Uh, a short walk if you take the path under the bridge, that way." Ted replied fearfully. "Please don't hurt us."

"Calm down, I'm not going to kill you. Give me that blanket, I'm freezing." He said.

"Yes, sir, absolutely, sir." Ted said, grabbing the blanket and handing it to the mysterious man. He took it and wrapped it around his shoulders. As he began to walk off, Ted trailed after him. "Say, what's your name, sir?"

"My name is Jean." The man said after a moment's pause.

"John?" Ted said.

"No, it's David."

"What?"

"Fuck off." The man replied, striding off. Ted stood, dumbfounded as his girlfriend stepped up beside him. She slapped him.

"That was my grandmother's blanket! Hand-made! And I can't get another, she's dead!" She hissed.

"What the fuck just happened?" He exclaimed.

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, Tracer lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Emily was snoring next to her, curled up and facing the wall while Tracer's hands were folded behind her head. She should have slept hours ago, but so many thoughts were racing through her head that she could not keep her eyes shut. She wondered where Spy was, if he had finished his intelligence gathering. She also thought briefly of Scout and sighed. She had known deep down that this was going to happen, but she wished it could have been different all the same, that he could understand and accept her. Though his reaction to learning of Tracer's relationship had been less than reasonable, she still wanted to remain friends and hoped that this had not driven a wedge between them. Suddenly, a sharp knock on her door drew her attention back to the present and she briefly glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning.

"Just a second!" She called, rising from the bed, stretching and then searching the floor for her clothes. Once she had found them and put them on, she shook Emily awake.

"Wh... What is it?" Emily asked, yawning.

"I don't know, but you should get dressed." Tracer explained.

"That's very..." Emily said, but before she finished her face was buried in her pillow and she was asleep once more. Tracer smiled and rolled her eyes, before turning and walking to the door. She pulled it open to find Dell.

"Emergency meeting downstairs. Spy's back." Dell said. He furrowed his brow as he glanced past Tracer, but then his expression returned to a neutral one as she exited the room and shut the door behind her. She looked down the hall, seeing Scout trudging from his own room, followed by McCree. He walked right past her, not sparing her a glance and she bit her lip. McCree nodded to her and Dell as he passed.

 _"I'll explain later."_ He seemed to mouth to her and she nodded. As if he needed to, Tracer thought. For a moment, cold fury gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside and followed Dell down the stairs. They came to the main living room, where Spy stood, his top half exposed as Mercy prodded the numerous small cuts on it, tutting.

"These are all probably infected, you know. What were you thinking, taking a dip in the Thames?" She asked, pulling some wads of cotton from a satchel on one of the tables and beginning to dab the cuts with them, causing Spy to wince.

"I'm sorry, I'll pass your concerns onto the gangster that threw me there." He said irritably. Around him, the entirety of the group was assembled. Scout, Heavy, McCree, Demo, Medic, Charles, her and Dell.

"So, what did you learn from your little expedition?" Charles asked, his arms folded across his chest.

"For a start, their leader is a man they call Iron Arm. His left arm is metal and it seems to be able to generate electricity." Spy said. "And I should never listen to bystanders on the river bank, because their definition of a 'short walk' is not the same as mine." He added.

"Anything more important?" Charles said, rubbing his eyes impatiently.

"Yes. They're planning on crashing a parade in three days time. The Victory Day parade, they called it. Does that mean anything to you?" Spy asked. Mercy paused her ministrations temporarily as she, Tracer, Charles and McCree all exchanged furtive glances.

"It's to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the Omnic Crisis. There's a parade in London every year." Charles said. "What do you mean, they're planning on crashing it?"

"They plan to kidnap the King when he stops at King's Row to pay his respects to an Omnic monk who was killed there. I'm assuming this is significant to you?" Spy said.

"Yes. Tekhartha Mondatta was the Omnic who died. Tracer was there." He said simply. All eyes fell on her and she looked around mournfully.

"Widowmaker killed him. I tried to stop her, but I failed." She said, her voice low as her mind flashed back to that day. Spy's hand absently went to his chest as Tracer mentioned Widowmaker and he scowled.

"We should stop them." Heavy said. "And kill Australian thieves once and for all."

"I agree, if we can stop 'em it'll send a message, that Overwatch is still capable of doing good." McCree said.

"The gang is too large for us to stop on our own." Spy said. "I was at the bar they frequent, there were at least fifty of them."

"That is a problem. But if we can tip off the authorities, they might be able to lend a hand. The parade is too big an event to just cancel, not with this little notice, even if they believed us. But an anonymous tip that some gangsters are going to cause trouble would definitely cause them to at least increase security." Charles said.

"Hey, wouldn't that make it harder for us to get in the right place to help out?" Dell asked. Charles frowned, stroking his chin.

"Not necessarily. I have a plan, but I won't tell you until I've sorted out the details." He said.

"So what are we supposed to do until the parade? Just sit on our arses?" Demo objected. Charles shook his head.

"You have seventy hours before the parade. That should be plenty of time to prepare your weapons and come up with contingency plans. One thing's for sure, I don't want anybody to just be fucking around for the next few days. Our extended break is over, now we work. Tracer, that means Emily goes home." Charles said. Tracer ignored the scoff she heard from Scout and nodded reluctantly.

"I'll let her know once she's woken up." She said.

"Good. As for the rest of you, we can probably set up some kind of shooting range, I want everybody to practice as much as possible." He said. "For now you can get back to bed and rest well, but first thing in the morning, I expect you to bust your fucking balls. And lady equivalents." He added hastily. "Understood?" They all nodded.

"Very good. Goodnight, ladies, gentlemen. If anybody wakes me up before 10, they will be shot." Charles said, turning and limping away. After a moment, Scout looked at McCree.

"Wait, was that a joke?" He whispered.

* * *

 **19 September 2076  
**

Scout and McCree stood together in the cellar, the various cases and barrels filled with alcohol cleared and a series of targets set up at the far side of the room. They wore protective earmuffs so that the sounds of the gunshots echoing in the confined space did not deafen them. In short order, they had both emptied their pistols several times over and Scout's hands ached from the sustained recoil.

"Let's take a break." McCree mouthed and Scout nodded, tossing his pistol onto the table and removing his earmuffs.

"I'd say I did pretty well." Scout said, looking at the sheet of paper with a man printed on it that he had riddled with holes.

"Your grouping's all over the place." McCree said. "Half your shots ain't even hit the guy."

"Aw, cut me some slack, I use a shotgun most of the time anyway." He said defensively.

"Yeah, and when you run out of ammo for that you have a pistol." McCree replied.

"Don't bet on it, pal. If what I ordered arrives here on time-" Scout started.

"What in God's name are you doing in my cellar?" Came the voice of Charles as he limped down the stairs.

"Target practice, boss." McCree replied. "This place makes a better spot than most."

"Makes sense, I suppose." Charles said, looking at the targets. "Your grouping's off." He commented.

"Aw, come on! It ain't that bad!" Scout said, scowling. "And like you could do better." At this, Charles grabbed Scout's pistol and one of the magazines on the table, loading the gun and firing a dozen shots at the target. Eight of the twelve shots hit the chest of the man on the target in a circle, though Scout's ears were ringing too much for him to care.

"Dude, a little warning!" He said when the ringing had died down somewhat.

"I'm a little out of practice." Charles mused, almost as if he hadn't heard Scout. "But I rest my case. I sincerely hope your aim improves before people's lives depend on it."

* * *

Spy and Tracer stood in the living room opposite one-another, a space cleared around them. In the corner, Heavy sat, cleaning his minigun and watching them curiously.

"I don't understand why you're trying to teach me how to fight in hand-to-hand combat." Tracer said. "My job is to harass and flank, not punch people."

"And sometimes you will be caught in an unfavourable situation where you need to defend yourself, so put your fists up." Spy replied. She sighed and raised her fists. "Now hit me." At this, she lunged forward and swung at him. He dodged, punched her in the face and then slashed her feet out from under her with his own foot. She hit the ground hard and cried out in pain.

"I did not say the training would be easy. Get up." Spy said. Heavy chuckled and Spy turned on him. "Do not laugh at a lady who is injured, Mikhail."

"What did you just call him?" Tracer said as she rose to her feet, rubbing her face where she had been hit.

"Mikhail. Is my name." He replied.

"Then why does everybody call you Heavy?" She asked.

"Because I am heavy weapons guy." He replied.

"And all of our colleagues are pricks who never bothered to learn anybody's names. I think I am the only person who actually knows what everybody is called." Spy said, pulling out his cigarette case and taking one. He lit up, took a drag and then sighed. "You didn't think his real name was actually Heavy, did you?"

"No, I suppose not." Tracer said. "It's just... Strange. What is everybody really called, then?"

"Well, you are already aware of Dell. The Medic is Ludwig, Demo is called Tavish and Scout is-"

"Just Scout, right?" Tracer asked. Spy frowned.

"No, his name is Jeremy. Please don't tell me he forgot his own name." He said.

"That's what he told me. It wasn't long ago, either. So, what's your name, then?"

"How about we get back to training? You broadcast your movements too much." Spy said. "Now hit me."

"What? We weren't-" Tracer began.

"HIT ME!" He roared.

* * *

Late in the evening, Dell stood outside the door to Ludwig's room, carrying a brand new medigun wrapped in cloth. He heard voices inside and hesitated, before deciding to knock.

"Enter!" Ludwig called. Dell did as instructed and came in. He noticed Ludwig was standing with Mercy, several sheets of paper on the table.

"I just finished that new medigun you wanted, doc." Dell said, removing the cloth and handing the medigun to him. Ludwig smiled as one of his birds swooped down and perched on it.

"Ah, wunderbar. With this, I can heal even faster!" He said. "You modeled it exactly as I asked, ja?"

"I made it just like the last one I made, the one you left in the past." Dell replied.

"The engineer makes your mediguns?" Mercy asked, frowning.

"Not at first, but once I got a couple blueprints we thought it'd be quicker if I just did it, rather than him getting them from his usual sources. We call this one the Quick-Fix." Dell replied. "What were you two talking about, anyway? Don't you hate each-other?" He asked. They exchanged glances before looking back at him.

"We have agreed, if only for the time being, that the... Wellbeing of our colleagues is more important than our petty rivalry." Ludwig managed with great difficulty, as if each word hurt him to say.

"So we've exchanged medical information about you all. I've been given a detailed explanation about this... Ubercharge and I'm satisfied that he hasn't recklessly endangered your lives with his morbid curiosity." She explained. Dell snorted.

"Is something funny, Kamerad?" Ludwig asked sternly, shooing the dove off of his medigun as he closely examined it. Then, when Mercy had her gaze fixed on Dell, he winked.

"Nope. Nothing at all. Anyways, I gotta go, the new wrench I ordered should be getting here soon. God damn, this new internet thing is convenient, huh?" He said.

"It's hardly new." Mercy said. "It's only been around for ninety years."

"Which I missed. See y'all later." He replied, turning and strolling from the room.

* * *

Scout shot to his feet when the doorbell rang, sprinting to the front door. He ran past Dell as he reached for the handle and grabbed it, shoving him aside and receiving an undignified grunt in response as he pulled it open.

"Hello, is this the residence of a... Charles Chaplin?" Came a high and cracking voice. The man outside the door was a lanky, tall man, so young he was still covered with acne. He had a bulging Adam's apple, pale and blotchy skin stretched taut across his sharp features and sunken eyes that stared wearily out from under the white FedEx cap he wore. He looked down at the tablet he carried.

"Uh, you bet." Scout said.

"I have one delivery for a... Dell Conagher?" The boy said.

"Yeah, that's m- Wait, what?" Scout said. A gloved hand shoved him by the face as Dell stepped into the doorway.

"That's me, hey. I ordered a wrench." Dell said.

"It says here you bought it on the Dane's Workshop webstore and the delivery got put through to FedEx. Sound right?" He asked. Dell nodded. The boy pulled a stylus from his pocket and handed it and the tablet to Dell. "Sign here." Dell took the stylus and the tablet and signed. He handed it back to the boy, who pulled a roughly wrench-sized package from his back pocket, handing it to Dell.

"Hey, uh, I made an order too which should be here right now." Scout complained. The boy looked at his tablet, tapping it repeatedly.

"I don't have any other deliveries to this address." He said.

"What? That's bullshit, I clicked on the Add to Cart button!" Scout objected.

"You gotta go to the checkout after that." Dell said.

"What?" Scout said. "Crap! I need that stuff for the thing!" He yelled.

"Can I go now?" The FedEx employee asked.

"No! There's gotta be some kind of mistake, I ordered a box of Bonk! Atomic Punch and you gotta fucking have it, it's important!"

"If you didn't finish the order then FedEx isn't liable for you not getting your delivery. Please let me go now, I can't afford my rent unless I make all my deliveries tonight." He said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and trudged down the drive, his shoulders slumped as if his soul had been completely crushed long ago.

"Man, this is bullshit." Scout said.

"Hey, don't worry, I only just got the hang of this internet thing and I'm an engineer." Dell said, placing a hand on Scout's shoulder. Scout's eyes widened in horror.

"Oh, shit, man!" He cried.

"What?"

"Dude, we're fucking _old_!" Scout said. "I'm a fucking old man! I can't understand all these new technologies and-" He began.

"OK, I don't have time for this." Dell said, turning and walking back into the house. Scout stood alone in silence for a long time, contemplating his age. Eventually, he decided he'd just go and get drunk.

* * *

 **21 September 2076  
**

"Well, the time has come." Charles said, his left hand resting on his cane while his right arm was folded behind his back. "We've tipped off the parade security and they're now on alert. But it won't be enough. Spy's intelligence suggests at least fifty gangsters will be present, not to mention Iron Arm, Roadhog and Junkrat. They are highly dangerous and will likely be too much for security to handle." As he talked, he inclined his head to the table that stood before them all. Upon it rested nine earpieces and nine pairs of contact lenses.

"Everybody, take one earpiece each. They're on a private channel and will allow us to keep in touch. The contacts are miniature cameras, which will be connected to a set of monitors in my study. This way, I'll be able to keep track of you all and coordinate the operation." He instructed. They all stepped forth, grabbing an earpiece and pair of contacts.

"Spy, if you'll explain the plan to them all?" Charles asked. Spy nodded as he slipped his contacts in. He blinked repeatedly, then stepped forward and turned to face them all.

"Gentlemen, ladies. This is to be a covert operation. We will divide into two teams. On the first, myself, Scout, Dell, McCree and Mercy. The second team will consist of Tavish, Mikhail, Doctor Ludwig and Tracer. My team will travel to King's Row first, a few hours in advance. Dell will set up a teleporter in a location I scouted yesterday and the second team will wait for our call to join in case we cannot solve the problem with discretion."

"Hopefully it won't come to that. Remember, keep an eye out and if at all possible, stop this kidnapping attempt before it even begins. Our goal is to _avoid_ being on the front page of tomorrow's newspaper, so try to be discrete." Charles said.

"Indeed. Remember, it is unlikely that the security there will be able to handle this situation. As it is, we are all that stands between those gangsters and the King, all that matters. The consequences if they succeed are impossible to tell, so for the sake of the United Kingdom and possibly the world at large, we cannot fail, ladies and gentlemen." Spy said. There was a long, awkward silence. "And since I and most of you were once mercenaries, I have received assurances that if we succeed here, we will receive a 200% bonus to our next paychecks."

"Fuck yes!" Scout yelled.

"I can get a robot eye!" The Demoman cried. They all cheered and Spy grinned.

"Alright, let's move." Spy said.

* * *

Scout looked around furtively as he pushed through the throng of people, taking note of all the surrounding buildings. After a little effort, he made his way to the front of the crowd, where a bright yellow plastic barrier had been set up between them and the road. Several tall, dark-clad men regularly patrolled this barrier and Scout could see a similar set-up on the other side of the road.

"No sign of any trouble just yet." He murmured, pressing his earpiece.

 _"I just finished setting up the teleporter. Y'all know where to go, that's home base."_ Came the voice of Dell. Scout peered across the street, his hand over his eyes as he shut out the din around him. In a building ahead, he could see the outline of McCree peering out of a window.

"McCree, I'm just gonna go and check some of the alleys, you keep your eye on this area." Scout said. Across the street, he saw McCree nodding. A loud cheer erupted in the crowd, drawing Scout's attention down the road. He saw a marching band dressed in scarlet uniforms, playing a mournful tune on trumpets and bagpipes as they moved down the street. He shrugged and began picking his way back through the crowd, eventually managing to break free of them entirely. As he walked, an uneasy feeling nagged away at him. He passed a run-down bar, its windows boarded up. A crooked sign hung from above the door, saying the bar was open. It did not seem as if this establishment had been open in several years. He was about to move on and forget about this particular building, but then he heard voices. He frowned and walked to one of the windows, peering through a gap in the planks used to seal the windows.

"So, my boy! What did you think of Trafalgar Square?" Came a deep, booming voice. Scout's eyes widened when he saw the man it belonged to. A tall, wispy figure in black robes, a ram's skull atop his cranium and a long, curved staff in hand. Next to him stood a young man clad in a black down jacket and blue jeans, with similar facial features to the man in robes.

"I don't know, it just feels like we're here to add confusion to an already convoluted kidnapping attempt." Markus replied to his father.

"HUSH, IDIOT BOY! Nevertheless, when those FOOLS show up, we will have an awesome battle - full of TENSION and EXCITEMENT!" Merasmus the Magician exclaimed.

"Crap!" Scout hissed, ducking behind the wall and pressing his earpiece. "It's Merasmus! Merasmus is fucking here!"

"I feel like this stopped being funny-"

"SHUT UP, IDIOT BOY!" Merasmus yelled.

 _"Do not engage. Go back to the crowd, you can blend in with them. The Magician is not what we are here for."_ Charles said through Scout's earpiece.

"No, I just feel-"

"NO, you IDIOT! I can hear somebody outside the building!" Merasmus yelled. Scout cursed and ran into the alley next to the building, pressing his back against the wall and breathing heavily. A moment later, a spectral head poked out of the wall, looking down at him disapprovingly. "You know that doesn't work on a wizard, right?"

"Fuck, dude!" Scout yelled, running out of the alley as Merasmus fully moved through the wall. The door to the bar was thrust open and Markus exited, pulling a small pistol from his pocket and pointing it at Scout.

"Oh, please, boy, don't pretend you know how to use that. Even if you did, we are WIZARDS!" Merasmus said, flicking his wrist and sending the pistol flying from Markus' hand.

"Dad, come on! You know I haven't even mastered basic spells yet! Maybe if you let me read that book of yours-" Markus began.

"Now is not the time, idiot boy!" Merasmus snapped.

"Right, uh, if you guys need a minute, I'm happy to take a hike." Scout interjected.

"No, Scout! You see, we are here... To add drama! And tension! And excitement! And to fight you!" Merasmus yelled.

 _"Scout's gotten himself into trouble. Spy, please help him out."_ Came the voice of Charles.

 _"I just saw two of the men from the gang, I'm afraid. I'm tailing them, send McCree."_

 _"I'm across the street, I ain't gonna be able to get to him any time soon."_

"So, Scout, do you have any last words?" Merasmus asked as he lifted his staff.

"I'm sure I do, but I ain't thought of them yet and I don't plan to for a long time." Scout said, pulling a baseball from his pocket and hurling it into Merasmus' face. He flinched, his hand shooting up to his bleeding nose.

"How rude." Merasmus said as Scout sprinted off. "Get him."

* * *

Spy peered warily around the corner as he saw the two men he had spoken to during his infiltration walking through a door into a tall building, the dark-skinned man carrying a briefcase. Jacob, he remembered one was called. He had not learned the name of the other. He glanced around before moving after them, slipping through the door. He looked around and saw they had started walking up a flight of stairs. He waited a moment, then followed them. He ghosted their steps, making sure to cloak whenever they seemed like they might look back but remaining in the open otherwise to conserve its charge. Eventually, they reached the top floor of the building. He cloaked and slipped into a corner, watching them intently. The two looked around as if to see if they had been followed, before walking to a door labelled ROOF. They opened it and walked through, shutting it behind them.

"This is Spy. You can see this, Charles?" He murmured.

 _"Quite clearly, yes. Follow them if you can, see what they're doing. Scout, just fucking_ hide, _for God's sake."_

 _"Yeah, how about you try doing that when you're running through a huge crowd from the son of a a fucking wizard, pal!"_ Scout yelled.

 _"You're making quite a scene, Scout. I count three - no, four security guards headed your way."_ McCree said. When McCree had finished, Spy stepped lightly towards the door leading up to the roof, opening it slowly. He stepped through and shut it softly behind him before walking up a flight of stairs to another door. He hesitated, before opening it with the utmost caution, wincing as it creaked slightly. He contented himself to opening it only wide enough for him to slip through, before keeping the handle turned as he shut it, not releasing it until the door was firmly shut. He turned around and saw Jacob and the dark-skinned man sitting at the edge of the roof, looking down at the street below. The dark man had opened the briefcase and in his arms were a partially assembled sniper rifle, the briefcase open and containing the other pieces of it. Spy cloaked and moved behind a pipe as they spoke.

"So, we just keep a watch for complications, then?" Jacob asked.

"And I shoot the guards." The sniper said as he fixed the stock of his gun in place.

"Ah, right then. Well - Wait, what's that, Jeff?" Jacob said. Jeff peered down, frowning.

"Somebody running from... The security?" He said. "Wait, I see someone else chasing him."

"Is he one of ours?"

"I do not think so..." Jeff replied as he set the scope in place and braced the rifle against his shoulder, peering down the barrel. Spy cursed. No doubt it was Scout. But if he spoke to warn him of what was going on, he could be heard...

"Hey, don't shoot. He makes for a good distraction, eh? That's four security guards he's taken away from the main group. Four less for us to worry about." Jacob commented. Jeff nodded.

"Good point." He said, lowering the rifle. As they spoke, his cloak faded and, after a brief moment of deliberation, Spy slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

* * *

Scout ducked and weaved through the crowd as Markus and four security guards tailed him. In the corner of his eye, he saw various floats, marching bands and balloons cruising down the road as the crowd cheered, with cannons at strategic locations periodically launching confetti into their ranks.

 _"Scout, damn it, try and find a way to shake 'em, I see the King's car coming around the corner. If Spy's intel is accurate, these guys are gonna jump him when he gets to the statue of Mondatta, I'll need your help."_ McCree said.

"I'm... Fucking... Trying!" He said. After a moment, as he shoved through the crowd, a thought struck him. A moment later, he dropped to the ground, crawling through people's legs. There were many indignant yells and he gritted his teeth as people stepped on his hands or kicked him, but it seemed to be working.

"Where the fuck did he go?" A guard seemed to say.

 _"We have a problem."_ Came the voice of Mercy. _"I just found two of the security guards who were supposed to be patrolling the alleys and buildings. Somebody cut their throats."_

 _"The gangsters, no doubt."_ Charles said.

 _"Uh, fellas, it's not strange at all that one of the security guards just fell to the ground? He looked like he was in quite a bit of pai- Oh, shit, there goes another one."_ McCree said. _"Somebody just stabbed him, I think."_

 _"This isn't good. Scout, get clear of the crowd, right now."_ Charles instructed.

"Dude, I am all over not getting stepped on." He replied, rising to his feet and staggering forth a bit. After he regained his balance, he looked around and caught sight of Markus again, though Markus seemed not to have spotted him. He also saw one of the security guards, as well as a man in a hoodie behind him. The security guard's face contorted in pain as he gasped, before collapsing. Scout saw a metallic glint that almost immediately vanished. Then, Scout saw another such hooded man. This one was headed for him. In the distance, Scout made out a tall, golden statue of a robed Omnic holding hands with a human child as he raised a globe in his hand. By it, a long red limousine had pulled over, many of the doors opening. Several black-clad security guards were the first to exit, looking around at the surrounding area before a tall, regal looking man with thinning grey hair dressed in a scarlet pinstriped suit exited the vehicle. He waved cheerfully at the ground, prompting a loud cheer. As he walked towards the statue, flanked by two guards as the rest kept a watchful gaze over the crowd, Scout managed to break free of the crowd entirely. He looked back into the crowd to find his pursuer. Then, a firm hand rested on his shoulder.

"Really, Scout, you should know me well enough to realise running is futile. Now will you get your gun and give me that awesome fight I want?" Merasmus said.

"Jesus Christ, man!" Scout yelled, slapping the hand away. He drew his scattergun and aimed it at Merasmus, prompting a grin from him. Then, they were interrupted by loudspeaker feedback that silenced the crowd entirely.

 _ **"Ladies and gentlemen of London! Follow the sound of my voice!"**_ A loud, manic voice sounded. All eyes in the crowd, including that of the king and his guards, turned upwards. There, atop the roof of a tall clocktower, three individuals stood. _**"This is not a part of the parade! This is, in fact, a kidnapping! All of you will kindly get the hell out of here, or we will blow you all up!"**_ He cried. From the looks of things, the man speaking was holding a microphone, which was connected to a pair of huge loudspeakers. Scout could not quite make out many details from this distance, but from the looks of things, the man speaking was tall and lanky, while the man left of him was morbidly obese and the man to the right of him was of a more unremarkable build.

 _"Well, so much for not making a scene."_ Charles said dejectedly. _"You lot, now would be a good time to go through the teleporter. Yes, Kingsley, I would love a cup of tea, thank you."  
_

 ** _"I don't see people ru-unning!"_** Junkrat called in a singsong tone. He hefted a gun and fired it multiple times, the projectiles falling a great distance before exploding in the crowd. Screams filled the air and the crowd scrambled to flee, shoving one-another. The security guards that remained in the crowd were overwhelmed by the desperate masses as they fled, unable to push past to try and stop events from transpiring. _**"Now, snipers, shoot the guards!"**_ He yelled. Then, nothing happened. _**"I said, shoot the bloody guards!"**_

"Oooh, how EXCITING!" Merasmus said. "I didn't expect THEM to show up!"

"Your son literally said you were here to add confusion to-" Scout began.

"Hush, you FOOL! I am maintaining ignorance to add to the tension of the scene!" He yelled. Scout craned his neck to look over the screaming crowd as Merasmus spoke. He saw that the security guards were rapidly ushering the king to safety, one pushing him into the limo with perhaps more force than was necessary. Suddenly, several gunshots as well as the whirring of helicopter blades filled the air, adding to the noise and confusion. Scout whipped around, frantically brandishing his scattergun.

"Oh, you ought to pay attention to the main event, Scout! You're missing the fun!" Merasmus said, pointing up at the clocktower. Scout looked up and his jaw dropped when he saw a helicopter making a beeline for the tower. It stopped just by it and the three men atop the roof jumped in. Scout's attention was drawn away from this when a fist connected with his jaw. He staggered backwards, dropping his gun. He shook his head and rubbed his jaw as he looked to discern who had attacked him, his eyes resting on Markus.

"You... Don't... Make me fucking run everywhere... Without consequences..." He said, panting. He doubled over, his hands resting on his knees as he breathed heavily. He raised up one hand, his index finger extended. "One moment... Fuck..."

"Dude, you really need to go to the gym some time." Scout said, bending over and retrieving his scattergun.

"Pah! Who needs the GYM when you have the might of the BOMBINOMICON!" Merasmus yelled, brandishing a book. On the cover of this book lay a pair of eyes and a wide, gaping maw.

"Ey, boy, long time no see, amirite?" The book said.

"OK, I really don't have time for this right now." Scout said, sprinting away, causing Markus to groan. He began shoving people in the crowd as he moved for the main road.

 _"Scout, don't go into the crowd, that guy was after you!"_ McCree warned. Over the radio, Scout suddenly heard McCree yelling, followed by the sound of gunshots.

"McCree, what's going on?" Scout asked.

 _"Some of the gangsters are in here. Alright, boys, buckle up. I got a couple of bullets with your names on it, and I ain't intending to waste 'em."_ McCree replied. Scout shoved through the crowd as it gradually thinned, with people streaming through the alleys and streets by the hundreds. Suddenly, a knife slashed at his face. He took a step back and looked at where it had come from. The hooded man he had seen before stood before him, slashing a bloody knife at him. Scout raised his scattergun as the man approached and emptied it at point blank range, splattering several people in the crowd with the blood of his assailant. He looked around as the body hit the ground and all of a sudden, the crowd seemed to give him plenty of room to maneuver. He saw numerous men wearing either dark hoodies or sweaters and balaclavas carrying an assortment of weaponry, from guns to bats to pipes to chains to knives and a great many more. They were engaged in a bloody battle with the security guards, an engagement which the gangsters were clearly winning.

"Hey, losers!" Scout yelled at a pair of gangsters as one held a security guard's arms behind his back and the other prepared to stab him. They stopped momentarily, looking at Scout in confusion. The security guard took advantage of this, kicking the man who had been about to kill him hard in the groin. The gangster cried out in pain and sank to his knees as Scout approached, leveling his scattergun and blowing the gangster's brains out while the guard hurled the other gangster over his shoulder and stomped his foot upon the gangster's mouth, shattering his jaw.

"Thanks for helping me out there. The name's Andrew." The security guard said as the second gangster moaned and sobbed on the ground.

"Hey, Andrew, good to meet ya. I'm with Overwatch." Scout said, drawing his pistol and putting a round between the wounded gangster's eyes. Andrew's eyes widened.

"Overwatch, huh? I'd heard you guys were back in action, but I didn't expect you to be here." He said.

"Uh huh, cool. Hey, could you do me a solid and radio all your buddies, tell them not to shoot any of the Overwatch guys? We're here to help out and that's not easy with you guys shooting at us." Scout said.

"I'll see what I can do, but it might be hard to tell who's who." Andrew replied.

"Most of us are wearing red, that should help. Plus there's a guy dressed as a cowboy, a chick in tight yellow pants with a weird metal thing on her chest, and another chick dressed as an angel." Scout told him. Andrew furrowed his brow and forced a smile.

"Um, okay." He said, pressing an earpiece. "This is Andrew here. Regroup at the hotel to coordinate and be advised: Overwatch is here and they are NOT the enemy. Try and avoid shooting anybody dressed in red or... Cowboy outfits or angel costumes or... What I think is meant to be a description of Tracer? Shut the hell up, Steve, this is serious."

"Alright, thanks a heap, pal. I gotta go." Scout said. Andrew nodded and drew a pistol.

"Thanks again for saving me. Good luck." He said as he ran for the road.

 _"Whoo, nothin' like a scuffle in close quarters to get the blood pumpin'!"_ McCree yelled. _"Where are we meeting, guys?"_

 _"Meet up at the teleporter. Spy is tailing the limo with King George in it, so far the security guards are keeping the gangsters off it but when the crowd's gone completely, they'll be more or less fucked without us."_ Charles said. Scout looked around and saw a small firefight directly ahead of him, with two security guards crouched behind a parked car as three gangsters fired repeatedly at them. Scout sprinted forward and leaped over the heads of the security guards, firing for shots from his scattergun in quick succession. The gangsters hit the ground and he kept running, not stopping for a moment as he reloaded. A moment later, he heard a swooping noise and looked up to see Mercy descending from the sky, landing gracefully next to him and running with him.

"Well, this could have gone better." She said. Scout nodded as he drew his pistol and emptied three rounds into a gangster as he emerged from a balcony above him.

"Gee, you think?" He said as the body toppled over the balcony and landed with a loud splat next to them. "How's that for poor grouping, cowboy?" He muttered. They kept running. Ahead, Scout saw the Demoman waving from the door of a hotel. They ran up to him and the three entered the hotel.

"Good to see you, Mister DeGroot. I take it then that the rest of the team is here?" Mercy said. He nodded.

"Yep, we're all present and ready to go and blow up some o' them wee gangsters." Tavish said. Suddenly, the door of a cupboard opened next to them and Tracer stepped out. Then, she was followed by Heavy, Ludwig and Dell. A moment later, McCree ran through the door, skidding to a halt and looking at them.

"Hey, I don't mean to rush you guys if you were in the middle of something but there is a giant man in a dress blowing things up." McCree said. As if on cue, a loud explosion rocked the building.

"OK, back outside, everybody get back outside!" Scout said, running through the door with the entire team in pursuit. As they ran outside, they found the surrounding area mostly deserted, except for Merasmus. He floated a few feet above the ground, waving his staff around angrily.

"You FOOLS! Running has only delayed your inevitable demise! And now, I have the entirety of the RED team to fight!" He bellowed. A moment later, Markus came running into the street, breathing heavily and collapsing the second he reached his father. Merasmus sighed angrily and waited as Markus caught his breath, tapping his foot in the air impatiently.

"So, are we going to fight?" McCree asked. "Because I was getting the distinct impression we were gonna fight. And we sorta have something to do if-"

"BE QUIET!" Merasmus yelled. "And get UP, idiot boy! Here, have a rejuvenation spell!" He said, waving his staff. Suddenly, Markus' breathing returned to normal and he rose to his feet.

"OK, loves, we really don't have time for this. I'm going to go help stop the kidnapping." Tracer said.

"I am with small woman." Heavy said. "Merasmus was always B-list bad guy anyway."

"B-list? B-LIST?!" Merasmus cried indignantly. "How dare you, you FOOLS! You should never anger a magician. Especially not you, Soldier!" He said, pointing at an empty spot in the air. "You will... Will... Where is Soldier?"

"He's dead, Merasmus." Scout said after glancing briefly at the others.

"Dead? Merasmus is... Merasmus is sad. Soldier was... A good friend to Merasmus. Even if he ate all my expired 'Kill me come back stronger' pills. Merasmus gives his most sincere condolences." He said.

"Uh yeah, wasn't something... Supposed to happen with those?" Scout asked. There were a few uncertain mumbles throughout the team, before Markus looked off into the distance.

"That, kids, is what we in the biz like to call lazy writing." He said, winking.

"But enough of all this silliness!" Merasmus yelled. "Time for a fight! Feel the terror... Of READING!"

"Give me back my fucking eye." Tavish said irritably. Merasmus chuckled in a sinister manner.

"Oh, sure, Merasmus will give you back your eye... Invokum MONOCULUS!" He yelled. A loud bang preceded the appearance of a huge cloud of smoke, temporarily blinding Scout. He looked around in confusion as the smoke cleared and then his eyes widened in horror. Before him, floating in the air, was a gigantic bloodshot eyeball surrounded by dark, heavy lids. The pupil of this enormous eye rapidly flicked between everyone present. Scout dived to the side and fired his scattergun repeatedly into MONOCULUS, though the pellets seemed to have little effect beyond turning its hateful gaze upon him. It shuddered violently, before a miniature purple eyeball shot from its pupil, narrowly missing Scout and exploding on the ground, sending him sprawling while rubble was flung into the air.

"And now, for added effect; BOMBS!" Merasmus yelled, waving his staff around. From it, dozens of bombs sprayed into the air, scattering all over the street and wreaking havoc as the team scattered.

"With me, Doctor!" Heavy yelled, spinning up his minigun and unleashing a torrent of bullets at MONOCULUS. Ludwig nodded and leveled his new medigun at Heavy, extending the bright red beam into the body of the large Russian. Tavish opened fire with his stickybomb launcher, hurling numerous bombs of his own at MONOCULUS and detonating them just as they hit it. Dell ran off to the side and set up a sentry, whacking it repeatedly with his wrench while McCree fanned the hammer of his pistol and dived to the side. Tracer blinked forth and fired her pulse pistols and Mercy swooped over to Scout, healing him as he stood up.

"Thanks, doc." He said, tossing his scattergun aside and drawing his baseball bat, scowling and looking at Markus as he desperately scrambled to avoid the numerous assorted bombs that were flying about. "Hey, Mercy, McCree, Tracer! Get the hell out of here!" He yelled.

"What? Hell no, buddy, you guys need us!" McCree yelled.

"He's right!" Dell yelled as his sentry finished deploying and began to fire at Merasmus, who laughed off the bullets and hurled a bomb at it. The bomb detonated, damaging the sentry and prompting a yell of pain from Dell as he began repairing the gun. "Don't forget why we're even here! Somebody needs to protect the king and besides, this ain't your fight!"

"AHAHA! CRY SOME MORE!" Heavy yelled in answer to this, grinning manically as his bullets ripped into MONOCULUS. A pair of the eyeball projectiles slammed into Heavy and he screamed in pain, but his wounds were rapidly sealed and Ludwig grinned.

"He's right! We need to go! We can't risk the mission for this magician!" Mercy said, flying up into the air and narrowly avoiding a bomb.

"Ahahahahahaha, yes, yes, flee! Flee before me, you FOOLS!" Merasmus yelled. As he laughed, a stickybomb found its way into his open mouth, wedging itself between his teeth. Tavish grinned and Merasmus' eyes widened and the bomb exploded sending him reeling. However, when the smoke cleared, though his lower jaw had been torn clean off and the upper half of his head was torn and warped, blood pouring freely from it, the ruined, bloody mess of his jaw on the ground flew back up to his face when he waved his hand and re-attached itself.

"That was VERY rude, demoman!" Merasmus barked. Tracer's jaw dropped and she stood still for a moment. Seizing this opportunity, Merasmus hurled a bomb at her but, quicker than it could hit her, she Blinked to safety, firing her pulse pistols at him and singeing his robe. "Excuse me, but could you PLEASE stop bending the fabric of time and space while I try to kill you?"

"OK, I'm not fighting this guy! Angela, Jesse, let's go!" She yelled. McCree nodded and began to run, Tracer following while Mercy flew low overhead.

"Yes, flee! But know that once I have slain your comrades, I will come for you next!" Merasmus yelled, laughing as he hurled a bomb their way. It missed widely, but tore a large chunk out of the wall of a house, prompting screams of terror from the occupants. Scout watched them go briefly, before realising he had lost track of Markus.

"Okay, where did the annoying kid go?" He asked, looking around frantically.

"Right here, you fucking DICK!" Markus yelled from behind him, slipping a rope over Scout's head and drawing it tight around his throat. Scout gasped and dropped his bat, fumbling and grasping at Markus' hands. The rope tightened and Scout felt himself weakening as the noise of explosions seemed to fade around him after several seconds. After a moment, he shut his eyes and thrust his head backwards, feeling it connect with a nose.

"Oh, fuck!" Markus yelled, releasing Scout and stumbling backwards, clutching at his shattered nose as blood spurted from it, his eyes shut. Scout looked at him with malice, picking up his bat again.

"OK, you just waved goodbye to your kneecaps, pal." Scout said murderously as he stalked forward, dragging his bat across the ground, the metal scraping on concrete making an eerie noise as Markus' eyes widened and he backed away, one hand firmly on his nose while the other was held up defensively in front of him. "Listen, if you order now, I'll throw in a second beating, absolutely free. Ah, screw it, I'll give it to you anyway." He said, running forward and smashing his bat into Markus' gut. Markus doubled over and Scout brought it down with both hands on his back, hearing a loud, satisfying crack. Markus hit the ground, groaning in pain and rolling to the side as Scout aimed a blow at his face. The bat clanged against the ground and Scout rose it again with one hand, grabbing Markus by the scruff of the neck in the other and dragging him to his feet.

"Hey! Nobody physically abuses the son of Merasmus EXCEPT FOR MERASMUS! Have a bomb!" Merasmus yelled, tossing a bomb at Scout.

"Oh, shit!" Scout yelled, shoving Markus and stumbling away as the bomb detonated, hurling him through the air and burning his back.

"Now, doctor!" Heavy yelled. Scout looked up, his vision blurred, to see Heavy and Medic moving forward, energy crackling around them as Heavy shrugged off bomb after bomb and eyeball after eyeball, peppering MONOCULUS with bullets, every single wound that hit him healing within an instant of being inflicted, no matter how severe. Then, several rockets slammed into it from the now fully upgraded sentry that Dell stood behind. MONOCULUS let out a loud groan, before vanishing in a cloud of smoke. Merasmus scowled.

"You FOOLS!" He roared as Scout staggered to his feet. Merasmus moved towards Heavy, raising his staff. "Nobody blows up MONOCULUS but Me-"

"YOU ALREADY MADE THAT FUCKING JOKE!" Scout roared, smashing Merasmus in the spine with his baseball bat. Merasmus yelled in pain as his spine snapped, falling to the ground and writhing in pain.

"FOOLS! I AM MERASMUS THE MAGICIAN, AND I AM INVINCIBLE!" Merasmus yelled. "A broken spine is a mere inconvenience! Now, you have truly angered me! Feel the terror... OF REALISM! HEAVY WEAPONS GUY, YOU THINK YOU CAN FIRE YOUR GUN FOR THAT LONG WITHOUT IT OVERHEATING?" And suddenly, the barrel of Heavy's minigun glowed red-hot. Heavy's eyes widened.

"No, Sasha! Do not give in! You are better than this!" He cried. The entire gun glowed hotly and smoke rose from his hands. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

"And you, Medic! There is no way your gun could possibly heal all wounds! It is now USELESS! EVEN MORE USELESS THAN IT WAS IN CHAPTER EIGHT!" He yelled. Ludwig laughed and pointed it at Heavy to heal his burning hands, but then his expression turned to one of horror as no beam shot forth from the barrel.

"And Heavy, again! You have been using this gun so much in the last few minutes, it would be firing on its own! BECAUSE THAT IS HOW REALISM WORKS!" Merasmus yelled. Suddenly, the minigun began firing off individual rounds at random. One round grazed Scout's ear, then the gun was silent. Then, moments later, it fired again, this time ricocheting off a wall and piercing Dell's sentry.

"Ah, hell!" Dell said, whacking the sentry.

"NOPE! CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, ENGINEER, REPEATEDLY HITTING MACHINERY WHEN IT IS NOT WORKING DOES NOT MAKE IT WORK! HAVE A DOSE OF REALISM!" Merasmus yelled.

"HOW DARE YOU HARM SASHA?!" Heavy roared, leveling his minigun at Merasmus and spinning it up.

"No, Heavy, wait!" Ludwig cried, but it was too late. As Heavy tried to fire his already overheated minigun, it glowed and sputtered, smoke rising form it before the barrel partially collapsed. And then it exploded in Heavy's hands. He roared in pain, anger and grief as fragments of the minigun tore through his body, sending him staggering backwards as he dropped the weapon, his hands burning, his body bleeding. He sank to his knees and tears began to stream from his face as he crawled to the glowing, burning remains of his gun.

"Sasha!" He cried. He reached forth to touch the weapon but when his finger touched the wreckage, he yelled in pain and pulled it away. He looked at the weapon the way that a dog might look at its owner as it is about to be put down, before burying his face in his hands and wailing. For a long time, the ravaged, blasted street was silent except for the sobbing of Heavy and the laughter of Merasmus.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey, I finally updated! As this was a REALLY long chapter, prepare for a really long Author's Note! So, first up, the usual thanks for reading and being patient with my painfully slow and inconsistent upload schedule. I'm sure it's not secret by now that I often struggle to write scenes that are not action-heavy, so this particular chapter has taken up a shitload of my time. And only an evening of it was spent on like... All of the fight scenes.  
**

 **Next: I'd like to give a shout-out to my friend Loose Cannon Doccy (formerly known as Doccy Larsson Seraphim). As I've already mentioned, the character of Markus is a character of his design as well as being loosely based off of him and not only that, but an IMMENSE amount of the comedy involving Merasmus and Markus in this chapter came from him. This guy has, for months, been sending me various little snippets of dialogue to use involving those two and now I've finally been able to use some of them, it makes me very happy.**

 **On another note, you may have noticed that this was a REALLY long chapter! Far longer than I myself had even anticipated! So long, in fact, that the final battle of the story arc, which was supposed to take up a single chapter, has now been split into two! So expect that second part whenever I get it done (either within a week or several months from now, given my track record). The next chapter PROBABLY won't be as long as this one, but I do hope it will give a satisfying conclusion to this arc, so that I can finally move onto the next arc, which may or may not see the return and introduction of much beloved characters from both games.**

 **And now, the final part of this AN, I'm going to directly address some of the reviews I got. Normally, I just reply to the reviews directly, but some of these were either really good questions that I felt should be shared with everybody, or were made by guest accounts (so I can't reply to them).**

 **First, the review of Bittersweet Alchemist: He might have done, yes. He also started what may turn into a legendary bromance. Though not as legendary as the Heavy and the Medic. Also, there was a guest review saying a similar thing and I'll be honest, my intention with writing that scene was not to portray McCree as a father figure, but if that's what people see it as then I see no reason not to continue that type of thing down the line, lol. Gonna get heavy when Soldier 76 turns up.**

 **To another couple of guest reviews: Saxton Hale probably won't be turning up directly in this story, but I do have plans for his legacy/influence on present events within the story. Which I have made a handful of minor references to, which I am really hoping that some people have picked up on by now. Also, Iron Fist is TOTALLY NOT RIPPING OFF DOOMFIST. ORIGINAL CHARACTER, DO NOT STEAL. All jokes aside, though, the similarity is intentional, because in the event that I decide to do something more with Iron Fist as a character than as an arc villain appearing in two chapters, I see potential for some really funny encounters between him and Doomfist. Some kind of dick-measuring contest leaps to mind.**

 **To the review of leelanmahome: Thanks man, for taking the time to write that constructive and insightful review. I welcome criticism, even garden variety "This is fucking shit" type criticism. So I truly appreciate your view that I am biased towards Overwatch when I don't even play Overwatch while I have several hundred hours of TF2 under my belt.**

 **Finally, I swear I'm ending the Author's Note here, just one final guest review to respond to. "Why didn't spy dead ringer" is a very good question, thank you for asking it. See, what I've been meaning to explain for a little while here is, that the TF2 characters throughout the story have changing loadouts. So the reason Spy didn't dead ringer is simple: He didn't have it equipped, as a matter of fact, he is currently using the stock invisibility watch. But, as you might have noticed in this chapter, the loadouts for each character are gradually changing: Medic now has the Quick-Fix, Heavy will no longer be able to use the stock minigun after this chapter, Engineer is using the Southern Hospitality (not something I was able to directly point out, but that's the new wrench he ordered online in my little nod to the YouTube channel Uncle Dane which I really hope somebody picked up on). So yeah, at some point down the line, it's very possible that Spy might equip the dead ringer and as a matter of fact, there may come a day where a plot point hinges on it. Again, thanks for asking that question, random guest who I couldn't reply to directly.**

 **One final thing (I know I said the previous paragraph would be the last part of this AN but boy do I fucking ramble). You may have noticed the scene where Spy rattles off people's names and how I'm gradually starting to change how I refer to the various mercenaries. When I first started writing this story, only a handful of the mercenaries actually HAD canon names, which I did make sure to look up and incorporate where possible (Dell, Mundy, Tavish), since I have started writing the TF2 comics have revealed the real names of most of the team. So because it's weird to keep referring to somebody by their job, I'm starting to shift what people are called. The only people I don't plan on doing this with at all are Spy and Scout. Anyway, now the Author's Note is over, for realsies. Thanks for reading.**


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